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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23592211">Searing</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/june_tonics/pseuds/june_tonics'>june_tonics</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Ai no Kusabi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gang Violence, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 23:40:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>35,132</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23592211</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/june_tonics/pseuds/june_tonics</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s the winter of 1932 and Blondies run New York City.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Guy/Riki (Ai no Kusabi), Iason Mink/Riki</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>74</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em> Nothing past twenty, </em>the letter read. Iason frowned at the words. What a shoddy code.</p>
<p>The thin sheet was crisp in his hands as he folded it in half and let it fall onto his lap. He propped one leg atop the messenger's prone form and crossed the other at the ankle. Cold light from the lamppost outside enveloped his shoulders, the white of his shirt luminous with it. </p>
<p>He inspected the reflection on his shoe, here and there interrupted by fat droplets drying.</p>
<p>Dirty blood.</p>
<p>Across the room, a log popped in the fireplace. The merry crackle skipped over to fill the silence.</p>
<p>Iason thought the dead eyes staring at him from the floor were a lot like the pheasant's. He lifted his head to see the taxidermy perched on the mantelpiece, thinking about all the ways one could kill a bird.</p>
<p>Some time later, the door opened and Cal poked his nose in the study. His eyes paused at the corner of the desk, then flicked up to meet Iason’s expectant gaze.</p>
<p>His face remained neutral as he relaid the news, holding up until the moment he closed the door behind himself to leave Iason with his thoughts in the shadowy study. With the sight shut away, Cal allowed himself a shudder.</p>
<p>He had better phone the clean-up crew.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>“I think I’ve got a shot here,” Riki was saying, head resting on Guy’s lap. He stretched out his legs as he waited for a response, testing the bloated wood of the frame with his toes. When it was clear there was none coming, he glanced up at Guy.</p>
<p>“Don’t look at me,” Guy told him. “Your head is in the clouds.”</p>
<p>Riki pulled a face. “It’s better than what I have now, isn’t it?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know about that.” Guy wouldn’t meet his eye.</p>
<p>He rolled onto his stomach and lifted his head, hand shooting up to grab Guy’s chin midturn. Steady disapproval met him there, and a rare weight made home in Riki’s chest.</p>
<p>“You don’t think I can do it.”</p>
<p>Guy looked away again. “I don’t understand why you want to do this. Isn’t Bison enough? The boys and the bikes?”</p>
<p>Riki tsked, impatient with the conversation. He withdrew his hand. Trust the same old insecurities to resurface.</p>
<p>He had been naive to think Guy would support this plan.</p>
<p>“Why are you still on about that? This isn’t about Bison, I told you.”</p>
<p>“What is it about then?” There was anger in Guy’s voice. “You come and tell me you want to dip in trouble, and expect me to cheer you along the way? What would you do for these people, Riki? They told you? What if they carry for… You know... Those dirty dealers? It's a fucking mess.”</p>
<p>Sighing, Riki pushed himself up. He kicked the sheet away before his legs got tangled in it. “You’re such a bore,” he told Guy, running a shaky hand through his hair. “It’s alright for you to run errands for Sid, but when I try—”</p>
<p>“This is different, Riki. It sounds like these guys work <em> against </em> the police. You know? Think about—”</p>
<p>“Yeah, I know!” Riki’s voice swelled with frustration. “And you said it—it could turn out a mess. I’ll take a step back if it goes that way, alright? So just drop it.”</p>
<p>Guy tried to grab his arm as he stood up, but Riki was quickly moving away. He bent down to fetch his trousers and stepped into the light stealing in from the washroom.</p>
<p>“I’m going to take a piss and get out of here,” he told the room. “I need some fresh air.”</p>
<p>Guy’s head fell back against the headboard. Shit.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Thin smoke curled in the air, dispersing long before reaching the dark windows on the second floor. One broken street light flickered some ten steps away, half-hidden by young trees stretching up in the strip of grass out front.</p>
<p>A man stood at the bottom of the stairs, blending in with the faded red brick of the building behind him. He felt the sharp edges of his pack of cigarettes, considering his options.</p>
<p>Someone shouted a few streets down, a drunken call fading into the night. Nothing moved down here, even though it wasn’t late. He knew if he checked, the time would be just past nine.</p>
<p>Katze took a drag, eyes closing as the sweet burn washed over him. The boy wasn’t coming, was he?</p>
<p>The previous night had been colder.</p>
<p>When Katze opened his eyes again, he had already made a decision. The cigarette fell from his fingers, landing next to a rotting leaf on the ground, and he took care to stomp on it, heel forceful as his mind drifted over a list of tasks.</p>
<p>He gazed up at the windows as he turned to leave, noting the cracked blinds hiding dust and no more. The pack slid back in his pocket.</p>
<p>His footsteps were silent as he headed down the street.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Riki dropped the frying pan, wincing at the sharp pain lacing up his fingers. As he squinted at the white flesh, he missed his name being called.</p>
<p>The overbearing din in the kitchen made his head spin as he considered the distance to the one available sink. Some cold water wouldn't be amiss—he had to keep at it anyway.</p>
<p>"Oi, Riki!" Someone shouted from across the room, louder now. Riki looked up, more instinct than interest, and tried to pin the source.</p>
<p>“Someone’s out there, asked for you!”</p>
<p>He frowned at that. Couldn’t have picked a better timing, could they? From the corner of his eye, Riki saw his handler stop next to him. No, they really couldn’t have.</p>
<p>The man, known as “Yuck” out of his earshot, looked at Riki with disapproval, having heard the exchange over the jangle. He spared a glance for the hand Riki was clutching close to his chest, but his eyes narrowed only when he saw the pan on the counter.</p>
<p>"Clean that up and don't take long. You're paid for work."</p>
<p>Riki watched him leave, cursing under his breath. He grabbed a towel from the counter, heavy with stale water, and tossed it on the pan. Fuck it.</p>
<p>He really hoped it wasn't Guy waiting out there for him. Or worse yet, the man he was supposed to meet last night.</p>
<p>Favoring his fingers, he shimmied into his jacket and put his hand in the pocket. The cool touch of his keys helped soothe the pulsing of the burn.</p>
<p>When he opened the door, Riki saw Guy leaning against the wall down the alley. Steady wind concealed the smell of garbage and rot, but there was nothing to help hide the ugliness. Just another back alley.</p>
<p>"What do you want?" Riki asked. His fingers were starting to hurt.</p>
<p>Guy pushed himself off the wall and walked over. He was going to lean in for a peck, Riki thought for a moment, except they were in the middle of the city. And sore with each other.</p>
<p>"I wanted to talk about last—"</p>
<p>"I'm at work, Guy. You get that?" He pulled the injured hand out of his pocket and gestured at the door behind him. The sad remnants of a poster flapped in greeting. </p>
<p>Riki turned back round to pin Guy with pained eyes.</p>
<p>"I get it, Riki. And I know you hate this place. Yuck give you trouble again?"</p>
<p>"Well, this is all I've got,” Riki shrugged. “Take it or leave it, am I right?"</p>
<p>Guy sighed at that, looking shifty. Riki knew he wouldn't like whatever was about to come out of his mouth.</p>
<p>"Maybe you can try working with me for a change. I spoke to Sid and—"</p>
<p>"No, I don't care to hear it."</p>
<p>Guy dug in his heels. "You got something better then?"</p>
<p>Riki stared down at his oil-stained fingers, nerve endings numb with old burns and hard work. This wasn't the life he wanted.</p>
<p>"You never listen, Guy."</p>
<p>Guy opened his mouth to protest, but Riki was already turning to go back inside.</p>
<p>"If I don't try it, I won't know,” he said to the door. “It's better to try, yeah?"</p>
<p>He wouldn't plead with Guy, but his voice quivered towards the end. Riki was so tired of the same old, day after day. Some days it seemed like the world didn't have any space for him to occupy. It was easy for Guy to offer criticisms from the sidelines, he was all sorted out. But Riki didn't want what Guy offered him; he hadn’t ever. He wanted to carve his own way in life.</p>
<p>There was no answer. Riki waited for several heartbeats, then reached to pull the door open. The oily smell of fried meat met him there, curling itself around him like a lover.</p>
<p>"I'll see you around."</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>The sky turned grey early in the afternoon.</p>
<p>The iron’s engine whiffed one last time as Katze brought the car to a stop.</p>
<p>There was light mist lingering about his face when he stepped out to survey the hustle surrounding the warehouse. His crew was loading goods into trucks, quick and steady, while others packed more for distribution somewhere behind the thick walls of the building. They were a few men short, but made do in spite.</p>
<p>Katze walked up to a couple working wiseguys, who nodded at him in greeting. “Keep it up,” he said to them, then stepped away and lit a cig.</p>
<p>So far it looked like they would make it in time.</p>
<p>The edge of his cigarette box rested against the pad of his thumb. At least something was going right, then. He placed it back in his pocket.</p>
<p>“Hey, cap’,” someone called out, neutral. Katze turned around, flicking the cig on the ground.</p>
<p>“Cal.”</p>
<p>The two looked at each other, years of history weighing down on them like the stout clouds above.</p>
<p>“Didn’t think I’d find you here.”</p>
<p>But some things didn’t change with the seasons.</p>
<p>“He sent me early, in case you needed me,” Cal explained, eyes roaming the lot, seeking out eavesdroppers as was his custom. There was no need to explain who <em> he </em> was. “I haven’t had to do much—the last Montreal load is set.”</p>
<p>“Good.”</p>
<p>There was nothing else to say on the matter.</p>
<p>Exchanging a nod, they each turned away and headed in opposite directions; Cal towards the trucks, Katze inside the building.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>“I am reasonably confident,” Iason said to Raoul from his place at the table. “There’s no harm in it. As long as they do the job.”</p>
<p>Raoul finished pouring himself a drink and turned to face Iason. He indicated the second glass on the tray, but Iason merely shook his head.</p>
<p>“There are risks you take that worry me,” Raoul replied with measure, eyes set on the game. “What will you do next, I wonder?”</p>
<p>Somewhere behind them, the record stopped playing, filling the room with the scratch of stylus until Raoul sighed and walked over to lift it off.</p>
<p>“I know,” Iason countered in the silence, eyes glinting as he stitched up. “And I know what you’ll say: I think I’m being clever.” He looked up at Raoul, watching him for answers.</p>
<p>Wordlessly, Raoul picked up one of his sleepers and lined it up with care. Iason noted the brief look of satisfaction on his face as Raoul surveyed the tiles. “Domino,” he told Iason.</p>
<p>Iason beamed at him.</p>
<p>The short-lasting sense of victory wouldn’t hold Raoul in place, however. Abandoning the game, he took the seat across Iason and stared. “I don’t think you're taking this seriously.”</p>
<p>Iason leaned back, eager to play more to ease the conversation. He picked up one of the tiles, measuring it. “I am. I’m just not worried about the dick. It’s just one man, correct? How far could he go before we shoot him down?”</p>
<p>Raoul sighed again. “If the police get any more involved…”</p>
<p>Nothing could ease his worry these days. Iason put down the domino.</p>
<p>“We’ll be more careful. Cal knows what to do. I trust Katze does too?”</p>
<p>“Of course,” Raoul glared. “You know that, Iason.”</p>
<p>“Well then.”</p>
<p>Arching an eyebrow, Raoul sat back in a mirror image of his brother. “Alright. We're expanding then, huh?”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Katze checked his watch when he reached the entrance, adjusting his vest with a subtle gesture. The coat was heavy on his arm while his shoulders tensed with the cold, but he wouldn't show weakness. </p>
<p>A while had passed since he had last seen Iason Mink in the flesh. And that last occasion had meant trouble. If he was lucky, the museum would be warm today and the meeting itself short.</p>
<p>He sighed once, moved his coat to the other arm, and stepped up to open the door. A fine man, Katze thought fleetingly, Iason had invited him to the Whitney. </p>
<p>As soon as he entered, he palmed his hat in greeting at the lady behind the counter. He walked over to buy a ticket, polished shoes clicking on the floor as he mapped the room expanding around him. The lady’s welcoming small talk went in one ear and exited the other, nervous as he was, but Katze kept smiling agreeably. </p>
<p>When he looked down at the ticket she slid over the counter for him, Katze realized she had given it to him free of charge. With a wink, he stepped away and put his hat back on—the art beckoned.</p>
<p>It didn’t take long to come across Iason, who stood with his back to the door in one of the galleries on the first floor. An enforcer lingered closeby under the guise of carefully inspecting a modernist piece.</p>
<p>Katze ignored him and stopped right next to Iason, finding his boss looking at three porcelain cups stacked on top of one another. He thought they were rather precarious, just like the Family.</p>
<p>"They're so ugly," Iason said by way of greeting, turning his head to inspect Katze’s choice of hat.</p>
<p>Katze lifted his eyebrows.</p>
<p>“The folks flagged some of the load and I am sending it back to trade for better. But I have bulls hanging around the docks and following my cars, so I’ll need you to arrange for a truck stop in Syracuse. Just for a little while. I have friends there you will meet.”</p>
<p>“And the… situation?” Katze whispered, leaning closer to the porcelain. They really were ugly. </p>
<p>“Leave that to Raoul. And ask him to lend you a better hat.”</p>
<p>He nodded, understanding the dismissal. So much for exploring the newly-open museum.</p>
<p>Heading back to the doors, Katze stopped to look at a small sculpture hidden in the foyer corner. The girl's sad face stared back at him. </p>
<p>He heard the raindrops outside before he saw them.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Rivulets streamed down his neck as Riki hurried away from Luke’s place. His friend didn’t live all that far from Riki’s cave, but it was raining so hard, Riki had no hope of escaping with the bundle untouched. He looked down at the parcel he was carrying, wondering if the shirt would survive.</p>
<p>It was a crazy plan. Riki had stood up the middleman without as much as a note sent, and now he was thinking of going to him anyway. He had to come up with a good excuse for last time. </p>
<p>If Katze even let him in.</p>
<p>These days jobs like that filled up fast; everyone was in the rush for money, spotlight, any kind of favor or step stool that would save them from the slums. And in the center of that stood a single man with his connections and job offers and whatnot. </p>
<p>Guy was right to be suspicious—Riki was too when he thought about it. It was just that no matter what kind of gig Katze offered him, it would be more than what he had going for himself. And Luke had told him the money was supposedly good for the work, so why waste an opportunity? </p>
<p>Surely it couldn’t be that bad. At worst, he would have to help the bootleggers at the docks. At best, he would end up playing a small part in the local distribution chain and earn a lot by the way.</p>
<p>But what kind of name was <em>Katze</em>? It didn’t sound like he was from round here—German? Riki had heard some of them had taken a liking to Hell’s Kitchen, opened up a bunch of businesses in the warehouses down there and… </p>
<p>A loud noise cut the thought loose. </p>
<p>Riki turned to find a car speeding towards him, headlights frighteningly bright in the grey of a downpour. He waved at the irate driver, half thanks half annoyance, and crossed over safely. </p>
<p>He didn’t turn around to lock eyes with the driver; it was impossible in the rain, and he was already used to this new world full of flivvers and their whistling engines. Maybe, if this worked out, he would drive a Ford of his own one day. It seemed like a long shot, but so had been getting a job at the fry-house, and helping the mechanic for a bit before that. So had been getting a place of his own in New York City even. </p>
<p>It took pluck to exist anyway.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Katze asked him coldly, a full minute after Riki had entered the office. </p>
<p>The collar of his borrowed shirt was uncomfortable, but he wouldn’t reach to adjust it. No point now, and he wouldn’t want to show any weakness. What was he doing here again, shirt and all?</p>
<p>Riki had mailed a note to announce himself, prepared a sheet listing his work experience and, not waiting to hear back, had made it there on time.</p>
<p>“I did you bad, I know that,” Riki started. He cleared his throat at Katze’s upturned eyebrows, then went on bravely. “I wasn’t sure what I wanted,” he admitted. </p>
<p>Katze looked at him, properly looked, and Riki felt the pale gaze seize him up. “Maybe you should come here when you do.” </p>
<p>There was a jagged scar running down one half of his face, white with age and grisly in the daylight. But it didn't matter, not to Riki. Even with that scar, Katze was strikingly handsome.</p>
<p>“When I do what?”</p>
<p>The stack of papers Katze had been holding made a startling, plump pop when he threw them on the desk. “When you know what you want, boy! You’re wasting my time.”</p>
<p>Riki wanted to claw at his collar. He swallowed, thinking it wouldn’t be so bad to leave at this point... Nothing about Katze was as expected. Except, Riki had come here for a reason. It wasn’t much in terms of overarching goals, but he had to hold on to that. </p>
<p>One small victory would mean a lot.</p>
<p>“I know what I want,” he insisted. “I want to work for you. What will you have me do?”</p>
<p>Katze’s chin turned up—in defiance or interest, Riki couldn’t tell. He palmed the handle of his chair but didn’t sit down. Instead, he turned away from Riki and gazed outside the window. </p>
<p>“I won’t run on you,” Riki said then, growing desperate to prove his worth. He had made a big mistake to waffle with this guy. “I’m here now, and I’m begging. Give me a chance.”</p>
<p>The pause after that was deafening.</p>
<p>Turning away from it, Riki could hear noises outside. Children playing a game of war, classic. Over the giggling and shouting, he heard someone’s radio. </p>
<p>“Why do you keep office here?”</p>
<p>Katze continued to ignore him.</p>
<p>Minute by minute, time ate away at Riki’s confidence, not that he’d had much of it to begin with, and he finally lowered his head in defeat. “Aight,” he said to the room. “Out of your hair then.” He turned to leave and got as far as reaching for the doorknob when a voice sounded behind him. </p>
<p>“You got some pluck,” Katze said with a grudge. “But you know when to push and when to stop. You know what you’re getting into?”</p>
<p>Riki, who had no idea what the supposedly ripe job offer entailed, nodded all the same. This was the time to take risks. He turned back around and met Katze’s stare head on.</p>
<p>“Last week I lost two of my men working the warehouses down there by the docks.” A head tilt to indicate the window. “Police raid gone wrong,” Katze added, voice devoid of distress. </p>
<p>Something heavy settled in the pit of Riki’s stomach just then, and he let out a shaky breath. That didn’t sound too good, even as far as lucrative jobs went. “Why?” he asked, already wondering how he would deal with any questions coming up. Not to mention, Guy. </p>
<p>“Doesn’t matter. The police suspect anyone with a sizeable business these days. The end of an era, so they’ve got to bag the last of dough before all’s fair and equal, you follow?”</p>
<p>Riki’s friend in the police didn’t ‘bag the dough,’ but he was aware some of Sid’s coworkers made profits by letting through shipments the mobsters brought in. The Prohibition was a facade, had been for a long time now, and even kids could get drinks at the right places.</p>
<p>“So you’re telling me you need me for the warehouse? What do you have in there?”</p>
<p>“You’re full of questions, yes?” Katze murmured as he palmed the files on his desk, sounding dangerous for all his nonchalance.</p>
<p>Riki looked down. He shouldn’t answer that, he knew, but the conversation was starting to get to him. “Aye, sorry.” </p>
<p>Katze reminded Riki of his boss at the fry-house, even though the pinstripe suit he wore with ease and elegance was a world away from Yuck’s dirty aprons. </p>
<p>“You won’t ask any more questions. There’s a load coming in tomorrow at seven. Heavy goods. You will help unload it, then load it back in the truck for city distribution. Clear?”</p>
<p>Riki hesitated for a moment. “Yes.”</p>
<p>“You’ll be paid in cash at the end. No proper hours, you’ll work as long as it takes. They’ll explain the rest in person, just ask for Zico.” </p>
<p>“Yes, Sir.” </p>
<p>Katze nodded at that and waved his arm. “Go now. And don’t <em> Sir </em> me.” </p>
<p>“Aye,” Riki replied through gritted teeth. Infuriating bastard. From one to another, no breaks.</p>
<p>And yet, the satisfaction of having made Katze’s crew was starting to rise under his skin, bright and hungry for recognition. He inhaled to keep it under wraps, fighting to smother a smug smile reaching for his lips. </p>
<p>It hadn't been that difficult. He would try it out and... The door clicked in place behind him and Riki stopped to exhale that breath of exhilaration. He tugged at the stiff collar. He’d made it. </p>
<p>Fuck Katze and Guy and everyone else under the sun. He had made it.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>“I’m just saying—it’s not fair, the way things are…” Luke said, chasing the bitter taste in his mouth with another gulp of beer. "No stability."</p>
<p>“I know what you mean,” Norris nodded at Luke even as his eyes sought out the comfort of his bike. </p>
<p>Guy looked away, uninterested in the conversation. He played with the thin paper label on his own bottle, one of three ‘goodies’ Norris had whipped out to welcome them back in his garage. </p>
<p>Every so often, in between peeling off sections of the label with considerable intent, he glanced to his right, at Riki. They’d had another row hours before, and even though the last thing Riki wanted was to dish it out with him again, it certainly looked like they were headed that way. </p>
<p>Riki was done having it. He was tired of the warm beer, the musty garage, the same old conversations that Luke and Norris kept recycling, always talking about the unfairness of it all. Most of all, he was tired of Guy’s nagging. </p>
<p>Riki had finally made a move and joined Katze’s crew; he was ready for the next chapter, or whatever else was supposed to come his way. It was just difficult to come back to this.</p>
<p>He passed his bottle to Norris, who had more interest in drinking the thing anyway, and lazily sat back to watch his friends. They were reaching the stage when everyone went quiet, at least until Sid made his appearance and regaled them with stories from his special branch. </p>
<p>These were the moments Riki used to like best—they made up his memories of quiet companionship that he revisited when life got messy and loud. There was something reassuring, uninterrupted and untainted, in the way their group came together to chat bikes and life, even when their roads diverged… But they offered little comfort now, he realized with a sinking feeling.</p>
<p>Norris tipped back the bottle and drank. A pearl of amber liquid trickled out the side of his mouth and down his throat, melting into the skin at his collar. </p>
<p>Riki saw him start when Sid walked in, dropping the bottle with guilt. </p>
<p>“Hey,” Sid laughed, drawn to him. “There are greater sins, my friend,” he said to Norris, then: “Good evening, losers.” </p>
<p>He greeted them as usual and claimed his spot on the chair, flipping it backwards to straddle it as was custom in the police headquarters. Or so he’d said.</p>
<p>Everyone nodded at him, and Luke even went as far as to pass him a bottle to try. “German goods, new to the area,” he supplied, watching for Sid’s reaction. </p>
<p>Sid spared him a look as he rubbed at his badge, then shook his head. “I’ll pass. Those Germans give us enough these days…” </p>
<p>Guy perked up at that, much to Riki’s dismay. How deep up Sid’s ass was he going to go? It was pathetic. And he had been to one to give Riki hell for wanting to work his way up.</p>
<p>“Oh?” Luke prompted, reclaiming the bottle with little disappointment. “Well,” he smacked his lips, “it tastes like trouble.” </p>
<p>They all laughed along, but Riki noticed that Sid’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. He was thinking about this when he heard Guy pipe up.</p>
<p>“Will you tell you the boys what happened at the front then?” Guy made a broad gesture addressing Sid. </p>
<p>Riki wished he hadn’t. There was enough already that Sid wouldn’t stop telling and retelling… And the burden of knowing information that was supposed to stay contained to the police dossiers was not light either. If it blew up, it'd be in their faces.</p>
<p>Sid shifted at that, the chair creaking with him. He twirled his hat in his hands as if he was unsure what to tell them, but he didn’t take long. His eyes found Riki as he started speaking.</p>
<p>“Well, a few weeks ago we brought in this guy with connections…” </p>
<p>Riki sank against the wall with a sigh.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>With an exhausted huff, Riki wiped his hands on his trousers and crouched down out of sight. If he thought his previous boss liked to work people to the bone, that was only because he hadn’t met Zico yet. </p>
<p>He was resting his forehead against the pallet when someone called out to him. Swallowing with some difficulty, he opened his eyes and stood back up. “Yeah?” </p>
<p>“I’ve got the next four here!” Someone shouted from the other side of the truck, where a single lamp illuminated the entrance to the warehouse. Probably Alec.</p>
<p>“Hell,” he muttered. “I’m coming!”</p>
<p>They had been at it for hours now, a slow back and forth between the warehouse and the trucks, and the load would’ve been easier had there not been only three of them working the dock that night. </p>
<p>Riki had arrived on time, sharply at seven per Katze’s instructions, and met Zico and the others. Zico had gone shortly after explaining the fun and games, but he popped in twice more over the course of the evening to check in on them and drive over a new truck for loading. </p>
<p>Even though they weren’t stalling, he breathed down their necks, eyes trained and hawk sharp on each of the crates they pushed up into the trunks. </p>
<p>Riki’s best guess was that this shipment consisted of mixed-brand, possibly questionable new-age medicine, though he couldn’t be sure the heavy clanking inside wasn’t bootleg. He knew better than to ask—and not only because he might be risking a piece to the head. In Alec’s words: the only important thing to know was that the shipment itself was important.</p>
<p>Still, it didn’t help that they were working into the small hours as opposed to daytime. </p>
<p>The other guy with them was still packing the last of boxes at the other end of the warehouse, Riki saw as he dragged the pallet back in. It was a dimly-lit space, the packing section shielded by unused crates stacked on top of one another, and smelled of rust throughout. It was hard to imagine anyone starting a legitimate business down here.</p>
<p>Whatever, Riki shook his head, he only cared about the money at the end of the night.</p>
<p>He stepped from one tired foot to the other to relieve the pressure and reached for the load Alec had left there for him. A splash of water would've been nice, but there were no amenities anywhere on the block, and it was too cold besides. He could ask Alec to share his water bottle when they were done, he thought.</p>
<p>It would be useless to count the minutes, but Riki looked forward to going home afterwards. Weary and thirsty, he reached for the next box.</p>
<p>Somewhere in the distance, a clock chimed midnight.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>The sound of sliding metal tore through the lot. With a wince, Zico pushed the door closed and lifted the massive lock. </p>
<p>It wasn’t the street gangsters that worried him, no; it was the cops overstepping their boundaries and getting more meddlesome, pushing back the more comfortable they got with their cuts. </p>
<p>At least they had sent out the last load the night before. </p>
<p>He checked the door twice after he locked it, then walked over to the containers parked in the back. They were locked too, but there was nothing in them anyway. Let the dicks try. </p>
<p>Zico had never seen the city in this state. Or rather, a decade had gone by without any risk to the business, and himself by association. Now meetings increased in frequency, at the price of work. His crew was cut in half... Although, truth be said, not all of them had left the docks alive.</p>
<p>Rumours from abroad roiled in on cresting waves, bringing news of mounting tensions and rival empires rising in Europe. He didn’t know all that much about the actual running of the business past the docks, but he knew trouble when he saw it. </p>
<p>Pushing his hair back, he checked the road before crossing over and ducked in a half-hidden alley between two dilapidated warehouses.</p>
<p>A drunken vagrant sang on the stairs of an old office building ahead and Katze, suited up, stood close by watching him. Zico smiled in spite of himself; New York never failed to deliver a scene.</p>
<p>“I understand him,” Katze murmured in greeting when Zico came up to him. “It gets cold this time of year—better sing it away.” He faced Zico, small crinkles at the edges of his eyes. </p>
<p>“I see you’re a child of the streets yourself.” Zico nodded, pulling his jacket tighter around himself.</p>
<p>Katze didn’t say anything else on the matter. “Come on,” he tilted his head to indicate the street behind him and stepped away. </p>
<p>When they rounded the corner, Zico found himself walking along the familiar route to Katze’s office. “We can stop by the counter place for dinner, if you have time,” he offered, watching for a change in his boss’ steady gait. </p>
<p>Katze glanced at him. “Can you make it without?” </p>
<p>“Yeah,” Zico nodded, not letting the disappointment get to him. Nailing down Katze was an art form at best. He walked closer to him instead. “I had a guy ask me the other day if we were booting medicine,” he said with a smirk. “Figured it was the sound of glass, he told.” </p>
<p>Katze turned his head with one eyebrow raised. “Any more stupid and I won’t be able to hire them.”</p>
<p>Zico was laughing when they went round another corner and saw Cal waiting up ahead. His grin faded then, and his walk took on an air of seriousness. So the time had come for <em> the </em> talk.</p>
<p>Unexpectedly, Katze made a sharp turn—nearly cutting off Zico in his path, and pulled out a key to unlock the door of a new residential building. Zico followed him in without a word, in a sweat at the prospect of facing Cal about the copper problem again.</p>
<p>They stood inside the dark foyer, waiting in silence. A couple terse minutes later, Cal joined them.</p>
<p>“Are they still watching you?” Katze asked as soon as Cal had closed the door. </p>
<p>Zico leaned snug against the wall. The police spying wasn’t new to any of them, but it certainly explained Katze’s anxiety.</p>
<p>“I didn’t take note of anyone if they were,” Cal replied smoothly, taking off his hat with a slight tilt to his head. Neither Zico nor Katze returned it. </p>
<p>“They appear interested in the cars, mostly.” Cal added, unperturbed by their rudeness. He looked around the space, wrinkling his nose at the soiled cardboard abandoned in a corner, and took a step closer to the staircase to peer up. “Does anyone live here?”</p>
<p>“Some busy-bodies up on the third floor,” Katze supplied. “The docks are still under fire, Cal.” </p>
<p>“Any new dead?” Cal asked, pinning Zico under his gaze as if there were no shadows to hide him at all.</p>
<p>“No,” he said, “but they come to <em> check on us </em> from time to time. Which is almost every other eve now. Usually leave with a crateful. And warnings.”</p>
<p>“Don’t let them, then.” Cal said sharply, the echo of someone else who liked simple solutions like that. </p>
<p>Zico stood his ground. “We tried that last time.” </p>
<p>They looked at one another for a long moment, both dissatisfied with the other side. It wasn’t the first time the police had come up, but it was a growing concern, and no solutions were forthcoming even as they approached a few months into it. For all they knew, the dicks could double down after the holidays.</p>
<p>Zico had raised the flag early enough, but Cal, though only several years his senior, hadn’t taken him seriously at first. Still wasn’t, by the looks of it.</p>
<p>His crew had to deal with copper crap every once in a while, preceding elections or following changes in office. All tied to politics, naturally. It was just that the Blondies had been swifter to extract their men from messes before. As Zico didn’t meet them face-to-face, Cal was his liaison and he wasn’t helping this time around.</p>
<p>Katze opened his mouth to weigh in, but a telling creak outside stopped him. Someone’s bustling shadow flickered in the weak streetlight streaming in through the window.</p>
<p>They froze collectively as the door opened. Cal’s hand hovered over his pocket; whether out of fear or habit was anyone’s guess.</p>
<p>A burly man in a long coat came in, breathing hard. “Sorry I’m late,” he said without taking off his hat. “Well, we haven’t done this in a-while.”</p>
<p>“Zach!” Zico greeted him, recognizing the man’s playful lilt. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cal move his hand away. </p>
<p>“Evening, gentlemen. One of the cars had to shake off a tracker, so we took the longer route…” He wheezed. “The Montreal load has been splintered with success! Whole city’s a-liquor!” Zach announced with a grin, then pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe at his forehead. </p>
<p>“Good.” Katze nodded unceremoniously.</p>
<p>“What’s the revenue?” Cal rounded on Zach. </p>
<p>“Twenty big ones.”</p>
<p>“Only?” Cal’s cultured voice, normally neutral, was wobbling at the edge. “It should be more, you know that.” He glanced at Katze.</p>
<p>Zach swallowed. “That’s without the fence,” he defended.</p>
<p>Cal’s expression was a pale mask of dread.  “It’s barely enough to cover the cost. We can’t keep up like this.” </p>
<p>“Might as well get into sugar,” Katze muttered darkly. “We’ll push the bars, then. Spread the word.” </p>
<p>Cal put his hat back on, mouth tight with displeasure. “Start with the Manhattan mills and go on from there,” he told them, then turned around and left without another word. </p>
<p>Zach, so joyful minutes before, already looked troubled. Despite their clutch, Zico didn’t envy Cal either. While he and Zach still worked on the fringe, as a newly-made man Cal reported to Iason Mink directly—who wouldn’t appreciate the news of a drop in revenue in the slightest.</p>
<p>Times were changing and it could be bad for all of them, from bottom of the totem to the very top.</p>
<p>Katze walked to the door next, easily taking up the space Cal had held. A memory flashed in Zico’s mind, of the time before, when Katze was the only link the bosses had needed for bootleg operations. </p>
<p>Palm on the handle, Katze beckoned the men to leave with him, and only paused to say: “They’re talking to the chief so they’ll ease up on us for the next shipment. Should be a big one. It’s our chance to fix this.” </p>
<p>Noting the unspoken order, Zico nodded. “We’ll be ready,” he said, and meant it. </p>
<p>They separated upon stepping outside. </p>
<p>“I have to go. The skipper awaits,” Katze said cryptically, then disappeared into one of the alleys surrounding the building. </p>
<p>“We should figure out better meeting spots if they’re onto our former haunts. I’ll see you around!” Zach waved, enthusiasm gone, then followed Katze down the shadowy road. </p>
<p>Left alone in the crisp wind blowing along the curbside, Zico no longer felt like eating out. With a deep breath that left his lungs burning, he started walking back towards the docks.</p>
<p>He had a lot to plan for.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>“Well, you look happy,” Riki offered, seeing Sid’s grin. He stuffed his apron in a pocket, threw on his jacket and booted the door closed. The voices behind him, caught behind squeaky hinges, rambled on in between loud clangs of pots and pans. </p>
<p>Riki was happy himself, to be out of the kitchens. He nodded to Guy and fell into step beside his friends.</p>
<p>“It’s been a good day,” Sid said, offering him a smoke. Riki shook his head. </p>
<p>“We went by the station,” Guy piped up after a moment, lightly touching Riki’s arm to get his attention. “And you know that parade they’re planning for Christmas?” He glanced at Sid as he spoke, smiling from ear to ear.</p>
<p>Riki nodded absently. Those two had a lot more in common these days than Riki and Guy did. It wasn’t a surprise, really, Riki thought, and put his hands in his pockets.</p>
<p>“Well, they showed us the plans for it, and it’s going to be great. You’ll come, right?” </p>
<p>It had been different between them.</p>
<p>Riki missed Guy from before, the Guy who had come to the city with him years ago. He missed the way things used to be back then. Ten whole years in the past, when they had nothing more to their names save their ratty hats and eager smiles. It had been easy to hope then.</p>
<p>With a weak quirk to his lips, Riki turned to Guy and agreed to attend the Solstice parade. </p>
<p>“So, how’s it going there?” Sid butted him, indicating the fry-house fading behind business entryways and sprawling alleys. “I heard you were looking to swap jobs.”</p>
<p>Riki shrugged. “It’s not going anywhere,” he weighed his words carefully. “Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t leave just yet.” </p>
<p>When he checked, Riki found Guy looking dubious. He'd grown quiet on the matter in the past week, which Riki didn’t mind, but attributed solely to the fact that he kept his side gig secret.</p>
<p>“I know what you mean,” Sid said then, sounding more measured than Riki had ever heard him. It was unsettling. </p>
<p>“I’d just stay away from dock work. It’s dangerous over there these days.” </p>
<p>“When have the docks not been dangerous?” Riki countered lightly. He looked over to Sid, trying to find a tell on him. How much did he know? </p>
<p>Sid shook his head, his easy smile gone. “I’m serious, Riki.” </p>
<p>Riki shrugged again, eyeing Sid’s buzzer. “You try picking a new job in the depression.”</p>
<p>Guy snorted beside him, but Riki didn’t turn to acknowledge it. He was still preoccupied with Sid, taking in his serious airs.</p>
<p>“I know,” Sid said, voice gruff as he looked both ways before crossing the street. “I’m just saying… There’s been some shit there lately. This is just friendly advice.” </p>
<p>“Thanks, man,” Riki said at that, looking away. “I didn’t know,” he added for good measure. </p>
<p>“Yeah. They always think they can get away with a little more next time,” Sid grumbled on.</p>
<p>Riki’s step faltered. “What do you mean?” he asked, a tight feeling in his chest. It felt a lot like being caught with stolen candy in his pockets as a kid. He took a deep breath so he wouldn’t panic. </p>
<p>It was Sid who stopped walking altogether. He threw the snipe on the pavement, lip curling in thought. “I shouldn’t tell you this,” he started, looking like it pained him to speak. </p>
<p>Riki glanced at Guy. He was too quiet in all this.</p>
<p>“Some of my guys shake hands with the mobsters, then get them from behind—that’s how it goes. It’s the only way to take them down. And lately we’ve heard back. It’s not the usual <em> camaraderie</em>, you see.” </p>
<p>Guy stepped back, glancing around. They were in the middle of the sidewalk, linen hanging from the windows overhead. But, still, there was no one around to warrant such worry.</p>
<p>“Sounds a bit underhanded,” Riki scowled. “But I don’t see what that has to do with me. I’m still at the fry-house, Yuck’s still an ass. Life goes on.” </p>
<p>“Yeah,” Sid murmured without conviction. </p>
<p>All this crap had set Riki on edge. Acting braver than he felt, he gestured for them to keep walking. “Come on, now. I hear Norris got some parts for that bike he’s putting together and I want to see them. Some new models have smooth features.”</p>
<p>Sid perked up at that, similarly eager to change the topic. “Oh, yeah? And don’t worry about the rest. I’m glad you’ve got a good head on your shoulders. Just like my boys.” He rubbed at his buzzer, shiny with all the wax he’d put on it.</p>
<p>Riki wondered if it ever got bloody in his line of work. He smiled thinly, turning around to search for Guy, who was falling behind. “Got it. Let’s go.”</p>
<p>They walked to Norris’ in silence.</p>
<p>At some point, in the shade of an alley, Guy reached out and brushed his fingers against Riki’s. Riki took and held his hand for a moment.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was a wintry afternoon leading up to Christmas and cheerful decorations littered the storefronts on either side. Picking his way among throngs of people out to do their shopping, Riki traced the growingly familiar route through Midtown into Hell’s Kitchen. </p>
<p>Most of his work before had been around the LES, where he still lived, but the docks had changed some habits—not that he minded walking farther for a good opportunity. Although, it was fortunate that the fry-house was located in between places, otherwise he would’ve had a much harder time hiding his route.</p>
<p>He frowned at the thought, unsure of himself. His steps slowed. It must have been that talk with Sid the other day that unsettled him. </p>
<p>It was true that his being at the docks could be trouble, and not just for him, he knew as much. Sid meant well, but Riki thought work was work, and there was nothing to suggest he was dabbling in shady stuff, the way Guy too had feared in the beginning.</p>
<p>Though the work itself wasn’t easy, much like the fry-house, he had been paid fairly each time. The other men working at the warehouse were starting to pal around with him and the camaraderie helped get through the long hours of labor. He had only been there a handful of times, but it was more promising than anything he’d had so far. </p>
<p>Riki stopped walking, eyes lifting up to take in the height of the buildings around him as he waited for a group to pass by. Despite the cheery vibe and excited whispers in the air, it felt easier than ever to drown in the city currents. </p>
<p><em>Big cities like that will chew you up and spit you out, </em>he remembered Aire telling him, and quickly shook his head at the grim thought. He was still here, still fighting; he had something to give yet.</p>
<p>A man and a woman in furs trying to get past gave him a dirty look, and Riki realized he was standing at the entrance to one of those fancy stores they’d brought in before the Depression. He knew he had to move, but Riki couldn’t resist throwing a glance back at the pair, wondering if they had ever struggled to buy their loved ones presents for the holidays.</p>
<p>He grit his teeth and moved on, not wanting to look at the expensive trinkets arranged in the windows. </p>
<p>Riki had been working hard for a long time, but he still made rent and was beat. Last Christmas, he and Guy had bought ham and oranges, and celebrated in Riki’s small room. Who knew if they would even celebrate together this year, Riki thought with displeasure. </p>
<p>He supposed, at the core of it, he felt betrayed. He had supported Guy wholeheartedly when he’d gone to work for the cops, but now Riki couldn’t even tell him he was trying to better his life because Guy wouldn’t approve of his means. The thought made something slimy and nasty like tar harden in his gut. </p>
<p>Knowing Guy had come from the same place, Riki didn’t understand how he could frown upon an opportunity. He hadn’t passed up his own, so why should Riki?</p>
<p>Closing his eyes, Riki took a deep breath and pressed on. The warehouse wasn’t far away and he would have a chat with Alec there, maybe grab a drink after Alec was done with his shift. </p>
<p>Riki hadn’t been promoted to day work yet; he had more to prove to Zico before he earned the privilege, but he was happy to swing by and see if they needed him all the same. Earning some more sure wouldn’t hurt either. </p>
<p>After Christmas, Riki resolved, he would quit the fry-house and focus on his work at the docks. Whatever Guy made of that.</p>
<p>He took a shortcut towards the looming warehouses, tuning in to hear the cries of children and quieter murmur of people talking in the apartments above, their Irish lilt so familiar and strange at the same time. He smiled at the boys sneaking out of someone’s cellar kitty-corner, remembering adventures he’d led around the orphanage when he was their age. The cold never seemed to make a difference.</p>
<p>“Get him!” </p>
<p>“He’s making track!” </p>
<p>The voices, no longer children’s, cried closer as Riki turned a corner, but it took a moment for his eyes to catch up. There was a chase happening down the road—several policemen running after a young man with tousled hair.</p>
<p>A butcher stood on the threshold to his shop nearby, wiping his hands with a bloodied rag. Further down the street, Riki took in the open doors of businesses and warehouses, men milling about and finishing up work for the day. One by one, they were stopping to watch the chase.</p>
<p>“This way, we got him!”</p>
<p>Riki flattened against the corner wall and watched on as two of the cops tackled the man no more than ten yards away. </p>
<p>They bashed him up with no hesitation, one blow after another, making quick work of tying his hands behind his back while he was incapacitated. Riki watched it happen with wide eyes, hands nervous around his pockets even though he had nothing to hide. </p>
<p>“Packing heat, <em> amice</em>?” one of the officers asked the captive, a vicious twist to his mouth. </p>
<p>They patted him down, but didn’t find anything, or so Riki thought until they pulled out a gun.</p>
<p>The butcher across the street shook his head, eyes downcast, and walked back inside. Some of the heads that had popped out to inspect the noise down below withdrew from the windows. </p>
<p>The young man was quiet in the aftermath, even as a policeman slapped him back to attention. His dark eyes burned something fierce beneath the bloodied brow, but he didn’t say a word, just let himself be dragged away to the car. </p>
<p>Riki swallowed nervously noticing another police Ford stop by the sidewalk behind him. With shaky breath, he stuffed his trembling hands inside the jacket and hurried away. </p>
<p>It wasn’t like he’d never encountered the police in all his years in the city, but this was different. Shadows and snippets of conversations intermingled in his mind, his breathing labored even as his chest constricted with the cold. </p>
<p>
  <em> The police suspect anyone with a decent business these days. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Stay away from dock work. It’s dangerous over there. </em>
</p>
<p>This place <em> was </em> dangerous, but the way the cops handled that young man… It could have been him, Riki was startled to realize. Or Alec. It could have been either of them. </p>
<p>With a gun?</p>
<p>Still, the way law enforcement went about it didn’t sit well with Riki. Neither had Sid’s words about the way they got the trouble boys down here. </p>
<p>It was easy to vilify the poor, those youths who had turned to what little profitable business there remained, and chase them down, attack them from behind. The question was: did he support that kind of thing? Could Guy?</p>
<p>Riki walked past the open doorways, avoiding the gazes of the watchful crowds gathered there, and ducked into a dirty alley to get away from their judgment. So what if the guy had had a gun on him? He might have done nothing wrong with it for all they knew. </p>
<p>We’re all looking for a living here, Riki wanted to shout at them, but they would probably just point out the man had a piece and write him off.</p>
<p>It was in moments like this he recognized the difference between himself and people like Sid, like Guy even, who had made it far enough to scoff at those struggling for opportunities. But the truth was that sometimes you just had to accept what came your way and do your best with it. </p>
<p>There was awareness kindling within Riki that each time he followed the road further down to the docks, he was stepping away from the life he had led before. With the space between them growing, even the people he held close would turn their heads if the police caught him on the street.</p>
<p>Riki spit to the side, hoping to get rid of the bad taste in his mouth. In the distance, he saw Zico’s pale head duck out of the flivver to greet someone, and the next steps were the hardest to take.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>The morning unfurled slow, like spoiled petals poised above glass. Riki blinked the sleep from his eyes and turned his head to find Guy snoozing next to him, his long hair tickling Riki’s lips. With a smile, he inched closer and threw an arm around Guy. </p>
<p>“Morning,” Guy croaked a minute or two later, his matching smile giving way to a kiss. He mouthed at Riki’s earlobe, hands curious beneath the blanket. </p>
<p>“Good... Mm…” Riki replied, humming with satisfaction. He reached over.</p>
<p>There came a loud bang from the door. “Guy!” </p>
<p>Footsteps echoed down the hall outside, the muffled calls getting closer; whoever it was, they weren’t bothering to hide their presence from the neighbors. </p>
<p>Dishevelled, Guy lifted his head and listened for a moment. Another bang on the door, this time followed by shouting: “Guy, are you there? Open up, man!”</p>
<p>He jumped out of bed at that, taking the blanket with him and leaving a confused Riki behind. </p>
<p>“What the hell?” Riki scratched at his head, reaching for a pillow to cover himself in case anyone came in. Was that Sid he was hearing outside? It wasn’t even late in the morning.</p>
<p>“Coming!” Guy announced loudly. The click of the door opening drowned under the voices trailing in, inquisitive. The conversation turned hushed fast, Sid’s voice no longer discernible. </p>
<p>Riki heard Guy murmur something in return, then close the door with a resolute click. Everything went quiet again, quiet enough to hear the footsteps recede as they headed away and outside.</p>
<p>Guy returned to the bedroom and threw the blanket at Riki, blindly groping about for his trousers. </p>
<p>“They’re on the floor over there,” Riki pointed out, hand over his eyes as he lay back on the bed. “What’s the rush?” </p>
<p>“I gotta go,” Guy replied, pulling on the trousers with clumsy hands. “Sid and the boys need me.” </p>
<p>“It’s Saturday and it’s not even nine, what could they possibly need you for?” Riki complained, sitting up again to watch Guy stumble around the room in search of the rest of his clothes. </p>
<p>His apartment, always so clean, had been in disarray as of late.</p>
<p>“What?” Guy looked up, eyes frantic. “It’s ten. I have to go, I’ll be back later.” </p>
<p>Riki blinked in response. “What?”</p>
<p>“I’ll come back.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, but where are you going?” Riki squinted at him, pulling the blanket around himself. He didn’t even know the policemen came to fetch Guy like this. </p>
<p>“The docks. There’s something happening down there at lunchtime and the boys need me.”</p>
<p>“What’s happening? Raid?”</p>
<p>Guy didn’t even pause. “Raid. They’re hoping to bust a big one by the water. I’ll see you later!” He was out like a whirlwind, and his words didn’t really register with Riki until he heard the door close. </p>
<p>On the floor above, someone was singing in a language Riki recognized from his childhood. </p>
<p>“Fuck!” He jolted, remembering Sid’s words from last week.<em> Get them from behind.  </em></p>
<p>They were going into the warehouses, possibly with the aim to take down more dock workers—bash more heads like they had with the guy on the street. It wouldn’t matter who; it could have been Riki working there today.</p>
<p>His heart picked up pace as Alec’s face flashed in his mind. Zico. </p>
<p>Something flared to life in Riki at the thought and he threw the blanket off as he stood up. It took less than a minute to get dressed and follow Guy out of the door. </p>
<p>He had to get down there before lunchtime.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Zico lifted his head from the paper at the sound of hurried footsteps approaching the entrance of the warehouse. A silhouette appeared, drawn in the bright light of day past the doorway.</p>
<p>The new boy, Riki, pushed the door open all the way, his hand tense against the frame. “I tried to find…” He gulped, sheer panic on his face. “There was a car up –– streets –– they could come here next!” </p>
<p>Zico dropped the paper on the worktable and walked over. “Who’s coming?” he frowned. </p>
<p>“The cops! I saw them before, they were busting some guy up the street. He had a gun.” He was gesturing wildly and pointing somewhere behind him, looking crazed. “They’ve been at this area!”</p>
<p>Zico visibly braced himself, hands coming up to calm Riki. “Alright, take it easy now. The johns are coming here? For… us?” </p>
<p>Riki stared at him. “Yes! Katze said they killed those men here before. Just—Where is he? He wasn’t at his office!” His hand was on the door again, turning around to check the lot behind as if there were hounds trailing after him.</p>
<p>“Katze?” Zico went back to grab the paper he’d been consulting, folding it with practiced precision. “You went by his office?”</p>
<p>“Yes!”</p>
<p>He took his satchel and stuffed the paper inside, then looked around as if searching for something else. “He left town.” </p>
<p>That gave Riki a pause. He turned his attention back inside the warehouse, eyes glittering. “<em>Left town</em>… Or?” </p>
<p>“Yeah,” Zico couldn’t help smirking, halfway surprised Riki could make the distinction. Perhaps the boy understood more of their work than he had let on. “Drove away a couple days ago,” he explained then. “He’ll be back. It’s Katze, after all.”</p>
<p>“Well, there’s no time!” Riki shook his head, checking behind him again. “We have to go.” </p>
<p>“Alright,” Zico agreed. Riki’s panic was starting to get to him, but his movements were still slow. </p>
<p>Too slow for Riki. “They might be here soon, Zico. Is it noon?”</p>
<p>Zico checked his pocket, but his old watch wasn’t there. Shaking off a stray thought, he picked up the satchel and swung it over his shoulder. “I’m not sure. How do you know they’re coming?” </p>
<p>“I’ll tell you later. Let’s go!” </p>
<p>Zico grabbed the heavy padlock on his way out. He pulled the door closed, secured it, and started wedging the hook inside the hasps. Was Riki helping or setting him up?</p>
<p>Riki swore behind him then, hand reaching out to grab at his shoulder. “Shit! I see them coming up!”</p>
<p>Zico pushed the lock down and latched it shut. He didn’t have the time to check thoroughly, but there wasn’t much in the warehouse for the dicks to find. He was more worried about the order form on him. </p>
<p>“I don’t know if we can outrun them,” Riki panted, his hold tight on Zico’s arm. “Maybe I can distract…”</p>
<p>If he was setting them up for a shake, he was damn good at it, Zico thought. He turned around, seeing the car Riki was talking about. It was one of the police Fords approaching at speed, the people within likely having spotted them already. They didn’t have much choice. </p>
<p>Zico cut off Riki’s nervous rambling: “This way!” He grabbed the boy and ran. </p>
<p>Sprinting past the warehouse, he steered Riki to the containers in the back of the lot. “They’re going to kill us!” Riki was hyperventilating, steps faltering as he turned to check back every other second.</p>
<p>“Shut up!” Zico hissed at him, pulling him up behind a tall container. </p>
<p>Their options were limited down here. It was either jump into the water, which was treacherous at this time of year, or hide behind the shipping containers until the cops found them. He could hear voices from the other side of the warehouse, followed by the loud clang of someone trying the door. This was bad. Of all the days to not have the gat on him...</p>
<p>“Oh, fuck, oh…” Riki chanted to his side. Then, in a sudden moment of clarity: “I’m going to speak to them, you run!” </p>
<p>“Don’t be stupid.”</p>
<p>Taking a breath that didn’t feel like it made it to his lungs, Zico glanced at the container to their right. If they were quick, he could get them inside, and— With the keys on him, he could wedge the doors shut from the inside, wait it out. </p>
<p>Except, no one would come to check on the place until Monday. If they got caught... He swallowed, throat painfully dry. </p>
<p>There was no other way.</p>
<p>“Come here!” Zico pulled at Riki, dragging him along as he stepped up to the container door. They could both hear the cops coming up to the back of the lot, their steps loud on the gravel. </p>
<p>“Fuck, fuck, why here, fuck,” Riki kept saying. </p>
<p>Zico’s hands shook as he opened the door, afraid the sound of it would give them away. He pushed Riki inside, glaring when the stupid boy resisted in his confusion, and quickly stepped in himself. “It wasn’t like this under Katze,” he muttered, pulling the door shut with vehemence. “Nuts!”</p>
<p>It was dark inside the container, the musty smell associated with long periods of disuse hanging thick in the air so it was no less suffocating in the winter chill. The walls were as grimy as the uneven floor below, littered with transport debris and who knew what else.</p>
<p>Zico trailed quick fingers down the door frame, looking for the latches, and pushed down with angry force upon finding them. The metal squeaked pressing in, locking him and Riki inside for good. </p>
<p>“Do you think they saw?” Riki asked in a whisper.</p>
<p>“I don’t think so,” Zico replied, sagging against the wall across from Riki. Something ribbed poked him in the shoulder, but he ignored it in favor of catching his breath.</p>
<p>“How long do we wait?”</p>
<p><em> Oh for</em>… Zico closed his eyes in exasperation, heart beating so fast it felt like it would pop outside his ribcage. “As long as it takes.”</p>
<p>He reached down to check the satchel was still on him, poking inside to feel for the paper. Four loads of goods coming up, and not all just bootleg either if you read Katze's notes closely. He would not only be dead on the spot if the dicks caught him, he would also bring down the Family with his carelessness. </p>
<p>There were several voices just past the thin door, shouting questions and directives in between trying the locked containers. The doors rattled in the silence that remained.</p>
<p>“Check over there, I swear I saw a couple run over!”</p>
<p>“This one’s locked too!” </p>
<p>Riki and Zico’s eyes met in the dark just as a fist collided with the door of their container.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>My sincere apologies to all NYC folks out there for taking liberties with their hometown. Also, the Italian misspelling is intentional.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Yes, thank you. Goodbye!”</p>
<p>He stepped off the Greyhound, eyes wide as they took in the bustle of the station. Everywhere around him people were hurrying to and from destinations, the speed of life etched on their faces and in their snappy movements. He had never seen anything like it before; hell, these crowds were more people than he had seen at the county fair.</p>
<p>The rooted smell of smoke and oil followed him as he took the stairs up and emerged on the pavement of New York City. Immune to the dirty looks of commuters rushing past, he held onto the railing with childlike exuberance as he soaked up the sheer sensation of being in a place like this.</p>
<p>He couldn’t help himself: “Aces!” Kirie pumped his fist in the air, his grin bright.</p>
<p>Compelled by the dizzying lights ahead advertising the latest to-haves, he stepped forward, slowly and wondrously finding his way among the city masses. He didn’t have a set destination in mind, but there was nonetheless an exhilarating hunger within driving him forward alongside everyone else. He’d had a good feeling about this place, so much so that he had made it a point to come. No matter the cost.</p>
<p>Now, being in the clutches of the most glamorous city in the world gave him a sense of safety, like nothing could really go wrong. After all, hadn’t all of them before him made it big right here? Kirie had all the confidence in the world that he, too, had followed the road just right.</p>
<p>A hawker shouted advertisement on the street corner, alternating between pulling his thin coat tighter around himself and sweeping his arms out in grandiose gestures meant to attract attention. “The one and only <em>New York Times</em>!” he offered to the people walking by, “Only two cents apiece! Read the latest news of the city!”</p>
<p>Kirie stopped next to him, throwing a curious look down at the printed headlines in his hand.</p>
<p>“You want one?” the boy offered, fingers nimble as he rolled a paper to hand to a buyer in passing. He quickly pocketed the change somewhere in the folds of his coat.</p>
<p>“Not now, thanks,” Kirie said. “I’m new in town.”</p>
<p>“Welcome to the madness!” The boy shot him a glance, then turned away to continue selling.</p>
<p>“Know a good place to be?” Kirie pressed, a bit oblivious.</p>
<p>Handing over another paper, the boy babbled at Kirie, all busy and wistful: “Down the road, to the left. The Christmas tree is going up and you should see it. I wish I was there! Now go if you won’t buy!”</p>
<p>Kirie thanked the newsboy and moved on, whistling a holiday tune from his childhood as he crossed the street. The noise of traffic in the city was much more immediate, but he couldn’t take his eyes off of the shiny hoods of the cars whizzing past. Such glamour.</p>
<p>Turning left down the road led him to an extravagantly tall building Kirie learned was called Radio City. “They’re still building it,” a vagrant told him as they stood close together, watching on as workers hurried about the plaza.</p>
<p>A larger-than-life Christmas tree, replete with lights and glinting decorations, loomed over with promise.</p>
<p>“Come night, they’ll turn on the lights. Riches!” the vagrant said, then picked up his things and went away.</p>
<p>“What a place to be!” Kirie whispered to himself, giddy even as he bundled his fingers to keep them from freezing.</p>
<p>There was a whole lot he could do—save for shop, of course, he couldn’t do that just yet—but Kirie thought he’d best start with setting up some kind of job. He had heard the opportunities were endless in New York, so long as you worked, and he had a thing or two to offer besides.</p>
<p>“Do you think they hire?” he asked a passer-by, indicating the construction crew.</p>
<p>“Go ask them!”</p>
<p>Laughing, Kirie went ahead. The men here weren’t as handsome and rugged as they’d been back home, but he would find a way. If this lot didn’t work out, he could always try the docks.</p>
<p>Step after step, he walked to and past the Christmas tree, fading in the gathered crowd like a folding sparkle.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>It was early in the afternoon when Raoul walked into the speakeasy.</p>
<p>They were in the middle of polishing the tables for reopening, a faint note like vinegar in the air. The light from the open doorway barely reached into the back corners, where half the chairs remained still on the tabletops.</p>
<p>Later in the evening, the lacquered wood would gleam in the firelight. Hushed voices would engage over clicking of cutlery and blues playing in the background. The place would come alive.</p>
<p>“I need to use the telephone,” he told the barman, who nodded and indicated an inner doorway.</p>
<p>Raoul was then ushered into what seemed like a clandestine office space in the back, orders and notes strewn about, and the runner set a round telephone model on the desk for him. He waved the boy away, uninterested in his offers, and sat down with a sigh.</p>
<p>It took a while to get to where he needed to be.</p>
<p>“Yes, an immediate call back, please and thank you,” he instructed crisply at last, hands reaching over to fold one useless note on booze measurements. “Did you note the number?”</p>
<p>True to word, he didn’t have to wait long. Just as he was beginning to turn agitated in the small space, the telephone rang out loud.</p>
<p>With a blink, Raoul picked it up and answered.</p>
<p>“Am speaking.”</p>
<p>“Katze here. They told me you said… ?”</p>
<p>“Yes. You’ll have to return at once. Don’t delay.”</p>
<p>There was a brief interruption, some shuffling, then the call reconnected.</p>
<p>“Did you hear me?” Raoul asked, raising his voice a fraction.</p>
<p>“I did. What happened?”</p>
<p>“Another visit. Zico had a docker raise the alarm, so he left in time. Iason is not best pleased.”</p>
<p>“About the visit or the rat?”</p>
<p>“The visit, of course. I don’t know who ratted on the johns or why, but he did us a favor. Perhaps you can look into it and reward him as needed. At any rate, be back by Thursday.”</p>
<p>“You got it. I’m finishing up with the boys here, and we should’ve a good one coming up. They haven’t been easy to convince.”</p>
<p>“So I’d imagine. Give them my regards, will you?”</p>
<p>“I will.”</p>
<p>“See you soon.”</p>
<p>“You too, skipper.”</p>
<p>Raoul put down the telephone handle and sat back in the chair.</p>
<p>The joint was naturally quiet this time of day, save for the shuffle of chairs outside the room, and the lazy winter sun edged in through the single slip of a window high on the wall.</p>
<p>With one detached look around the room, Raoul rose from the chair and left.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>“Where have you been?”</p>
<p>“Good evening to you too.” Riki stepped back to let Guy in.</p>
<p>The sight of him on the doorstep stirred up something, a not-quite-fear that reared its head because he suspected Guy was coming over after a stint with the police. He turned his back before Guy could use the chance to slide up against him and kiss his lips.</p>
<p>Ill at ease, Riki didn’t want to think much about where Guy might have been or who else his cop buddies might have bullied in the streets while he ran around fetching their coffees and paperwork. “I’ll get a beer,” he murmured instead, walking over to the kitchenette. “Should have one around, you left it over last time…”</p>
<p>“Hey.” Guy called out. “Forget the beer. I’m talking to you.”</p>
<p>His voice had acquired an edge, authoritative and more than a little discomfiting.</p>
<p>Riki didn't look back right away, preoccupied with fighting the impulse to grimace and mock Guy for his attitude. When he turned around, he found Guy had closed the door and stood in the center of the room with his palms up in question, a searching expression on his face.</p>
<p>“I’ve been around,” Riki said, scrambling for an excuse. “Here. At work.”</p>
<p>“At work? Really? I went by the fry-house twice since you left my place on Saturday, and you know what Yuck had to say to me? He said he’d forgot your face already because you haven’t stepped foot in that place in a week. You’re in no good standing with him, just so you know.”</p>
<p>Riki swallowed and glanced away, guilt etched in the corners of his mouth. It was one thing to lie through his teeth, another to get caught at it. Guy knew him too well to rely on bullshit to get by. “Fine. I haven’t been going to work.”</p>
<p>Guy stared at that, saying nothing.</p>
<p>“I’m sick of the place. I want to quit, so I think that’s why…” Riki trailed off. He wondered if Guy had come to check on him over here.</p>
<p>Riki hadn’t been at home much following the near run-in with the cops, preferring instead to lose himself in the city crowds.</p>
<p>“Are you alright?” Guy asked then, his tone milder. “Do you need cash?”</p>
<p>Riki looked up in surprise. “No, I’m good,” he shook his head. “I saved up.”</p>
<p>They were both quiet for a time, drifting in the unnamed currents between them. Riki gave up on pretending to search for the bottle of beer and sat on the bed instead.</p>
<p>“Do you know what you’re looking for?”</p>
<p>“No. I’m trying to figure it out.”</p>
<p>“Listen, about that," Guy started. "I did some digging and that man… You know, the one Luke said to hit up for work—Katze, was it? Well, turns out he’s acting middleman for the mob.”</p>
<p>“What are you talking about?” Beneath the glare he was sporting, Riki felt something tight coil about him, like a second skin.</p>
<p>“I’m telling you, that Katze character recruits. You were going to go to him, weren’t you? But you said you wouldn’t if it involved—”</p>
<p>“So now the mafia's conveniently involved?” Riki huffed.</p>
<p>He wanted to pick at Guy’s words, fling petty insults at him even, but something about the way Guy had said it tipped him off that it wasn’t a white lie. Not to mention, that incident with Zico.</p>
<p>Guy sighed. “Riki, I’m not trying to hold you back.”</p>
<p>“Funny, it feels like you are.”</p>
<p>“I want you in a good place. You don’t want to come with me and Sid, that’s fine. But, please, Riki, don’t go to the mafia for work. Nothing good ever comes out of that lot.”</p>
<p>Riki dropped his head, stared at the floor. There was no backpedal for what he had decided to do, and no way to explain things to Guy. He wouldn’t understand either way. Yet his earnest words, almost a plea, stung no less.</p>
<p>Riki spoke through gritted teeth: “Noted.”</p>
<p>He had to give up on trying to make it clear with Guy. Besides, he was already in too deep for takebacks. He would have to see it through its end, bitter though it may be.</p>
<p>“I don’t want to stick with the fry-house much longer, Guy,” he said instead. “I’m going to look for something else after the new year. They say next year will be good.”</p>
<p>Speaking the lie flipped his gut from the inside out. He shut his eyes as Guy sat down next to him.</p>
<p>“Police help still a no-go?” Guy asked him hesitantly, reaching over to lace his fingers with Riki’s.</p>
<p>Riki glanced at him, hand limp. “Yeah, no. Thanks for offering.”</p>
<p>Guy snorted in response, but he didn’t look surprised. He hadn’t for a while now. Though, truth be said, Riki wasn’t sure why he still asked.</p>
<p>“Well, maybe it’s better that way. Things are taking a turn for the worse,” Guy muttered.</p>
<p>That caught Riki’s attention. "Why?" He searched out Guy’s gaze with newfound steadiness. “What’s going on?”</p>
<p>Guy shook his head. “All this talk about the amendment, things going back to the way they were before. And the mob's… There’s a lot of work.”</p>
<p>“Is this about the raids?” Riki breathed. Whatever had taken a hold of him tightened further; he had to know.</p>
<p>“Yes... and no.”</p>
<p>Puzzled, Riki gestured for Guy to go on as he slid closer to him on the mattress.</p>
<p>“There’s been rumors about drug deals. Corrupt folks are all around, but drugs are <em>bad</em>, everyone knows that.”</p>
<p>It wasn’t merely judgment weighing down his words; a shadow nestled in Guy’s eyes as he spoke. Riki himself remembered what drugs could do to a person.</p>
<p>“What does that mean here?”</p>
<p>“Well, there’s raids. Sniffing out drug lots. The mobsters stand to lose a lot, the way things are.”</p>
<p>Riki shivered. He had known Sid talked bad news, but this was worse than he’d imagined. He knit his brow as he considered Guy’s words. Did Katze bring in drugs… ?</p>
<p>“How do you know this, Guy?” Riki asked in the speculative silence. “Do you raid?”</p>
<p>Guy laughed. “No, silly,” he reached to play with a lock of Riki’s hair. “I’m still only running errands. But I’m thinking they might let me drive soon!”</p>
<p>And just like that, there was light in his eyes again—not unlike the bright hope of their early days in the city. Fresh out of the orphanage and roaming the streets together. Everything had been straightforward back then.</p>
<p>“To the drug lots?” Riki pressed. He bit his tongue at the look on Guy’s face.</p>
<p>“No, of course not,” Guy said. He seemed worried all of a sudden. “Riki, you can’t tell anyone about this.”</p>
<p>He had been so stupid to press, Riki groaned inwardly. Mullish, he turned from Guy and half-heartedly pushed his hand away. “Who am I going to tell?”</p>
<p>He saw Guy shrug out of the corner of his eye. “Dunno. Just checking, I guess.”</p>
<p>Riki stared at him incredulously. “Say what.”</p>
<p>Guy lifted his hands, playing defense. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Sometimes I hear things I’m not supposed to tell anyone.”</p>
<p>“Gotcha,” Riki nodded. He inched closer to the edge of the bed, willing to move on—physically, and from the conversation. He just had to keep playing it cool.</p>
<p>“I know I’ve got you,” Guy said then. He admired Riki in the fading evening light, hungry as ever.</p>
<p>“You know it,” Riki shot back.</p>
<p>He turned his head to flash a knowing smile, but when Guy slid his palm across the small of Riki’s back, his touch felt like a brand on the lying, traitorous skin.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I wanted to play around with ‘a tradition in the making,’ so I introduced the Rockefeller Christmas Tree a year early. You can read more about its factual history <a href="https://www.6sqft.com/the-history-of-the-rockefeller-center-christmas-tree-a-nyc-holiday-tradition/">here</a>.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Katze. Come in, we’ve been waiting for you.”</p>
<p>Katze tipped his hat in greeting. “Good evening, gentlemen. I trust you didn’t wait long.” The door was closed seamlessly behind him.</p>
<p>“Welcome back. It’s good to see you,” Raoul saluted with his glass.</p>
<p>“Take an afternoon nap?” Cal piped in, flashing a smile.</p>
<p>Katze wished he could reach over and wipe the smugness off his face.</p>
<p>He walked over to the seated party, forcing the nonchalance in his step. “I don’t sleep on the job, myself.” He could hear the bitterness in his tone and tried for something else. “A classic, I see,” Katze commented idly as he took the single remaining seat.</p>
<p>Iason snatched his hat before he had a chance to take it off. “Decided to join my meeting, have you?”</p>
<p>Casting him an irritated look, Katze picked up the deck of cards on the table and deposited it directly in front of Iason. “I assume you’ll be wanting these as well,” he said with some bite.</p>
<p>Iason smiled, his eyes bright with amusement. He reached over and divided the deck, then proceeded to make a show of riffling the cards.</p>
<p>While Iason was playing circus, Raoul was all business as usual: “Our friends in the north are ready to accept distribution packages?” he made sure to ask in between sips of brandy.</p>
<p>“They are,” Katze replied, though his gaze was trained on Iason’s hands as he deftly dealt their cards, like destiny itself. For good or ill, Katze frowned, thinking of Zico. “They are interested in branching out as well, and have offered new tradeways in good faith. One of their boys will come down with a proposal after the fifteenth.”</p>
<p>“Excellent,” Iason said, lifting his head from his distraction.</p>
<p>“Very well.” Raoul palmed his stack of cards.</p>
<p>Iason’s first face up was ace of hearts. “It’s a good time as any, then, to tell you that I’ve decided to partner up with a couple more artichoke farms cross-country.”</p>
<p>Everyone paused to look at him, trying to discern the joke. Raoul blinked slowly and took a gulp of brandy.</p>
<p>It was clear the Blondies had entertained a number of conversations about expanding the business in the wake of fellow Families dropping away in the harsh climate of Depression-era America. Though the times were tough, risking it all was the way they had made their fortune from the start.</p>
<p>“Aren’t their prices dipping?” Cal asked conversationally and turned his stack up to show a queen of clubs.</p>
<p>“You tell me.”</p>
<p>“Nine of clubs,” offered Raoul, already sounding a little frayed around the edges.</p>
<p>“They seem to be, at least for the time being. That’s the Depression for you. Though, perhaps the new acquisitions will complement the running farms,” Cal offered diplomatically. He had a way of spoonfeeding that made Katze wonder how he stayed alive most days.</p>
<p>“That’s the spirit!” Iason's voice rang clear. He raised his eyebrows at Katze, who showed him his four of hearts without a word.</p>
<p>Across the table, Raoul gave a pleased smile. Rightfully so, Katze thought, the corner of his mouth twitching up fleetingly. They made a good team, and not just in Bridge.</p>
<p>“I thought I’d use the chance. A friend in Manhattan underlined how lucrative the business has become, and wagered it’ll only expand after the migration headed our way,” Iason added.</p>
<p>Nobody said anything for several minutes, the conversation stilted with invisible tension. Even Cal had run out of quips.</p>
<p>Raoul put down his glass and took over the cards to shuffle them, seemingly waiting for the conversation to run again. When he was done, he passed the deck to Cal.</p>
<p>Every person at the table knew it wasn’t about the artichokes, which were as fine a business as any in the agro sector. No, it was the holiday skirmishes with the authorities looming over their heads that stretched the silence.</p>
<p>One could hold their tongue for only so long, however.</p>
<p>“What of our French friends?” Katze asked to start with, just as Cal finished dealing them each thirteen cards clockwise.</p>
<p>“They speak of some new goods from Turkey, some sort of lab gold. We’ll see,” said Iason.</p>
<p>“We’re not sure about stepping into that one just yet,” Raoul voiced, somewhat subdued and notably avoiding looking Iason’s way.</p>
<p>“That’s true,” Iason agreed without a pause. “We already have a bunch of dicks on our plate.”</p>
<p>Katze’s hand stilled at that. He set his cards down.</p>
<p>“One heart,” Cal started.</p>
<p>“No bid. Iason, and what of the coppers?” Katze pressed.</p>
<p>Cal glanced at him in alarm, but Iason didn’t react unfavorably. He was reclining in his seat, focusing on the cards in his hand. If they hadn’t been playing, Katze would have thought he was buying time.</p>
<p>“One no trump,” Iason said at last. “I hear Zico had help last time.”</p>
<p>“He did. One of the boys knew the cops were coming. He overheard.”</p>
<p>“Riki, right?” Iason glanced sideways at him.</p>
<p>“Yes. How much a dock boy gets done.”</p>
<p>“Could be a good tool,” Cal chimed, ignoring the dig. “Maybe he can overhear some more for us.”</p>
<p>“Maybe you should meet him then.”</p>
<p>“Raoul?” Iason prompted, gesturing with his cards.</p>
<p>“We have an island shipment coming up and the cops will be wanting a taste, no doubt,” Raoul said then, turning the conversation back to more pressing matters. “And no bid.”</p>
<p>Cal considered his cards with care. “We’ve spoken to the chief again... They should ease up on us for the time being. Two hearts.”</p>
<p>“No bid,” Katze passed right away.</p>
<p>“No bid,” Iason echoed after a brief pause. “It’s the end of an era, as you’re yourselves aware. Tempers are flaring.”</p>
<p>Not that they were strangers to tempers or, indeed, fanning the flames when it suited them.</p>
<p>There was a <em>no bid</em> from Raoul too. “If Cal says he’s made an impression, I say we remain steadfast. Not much should change with the next round, and hopefully the one after either.”</p>
<p>Katze weighed his words. “I’m glad we’re considering new ventures as old ways die out.”</p>
<p>Iason smirked at the remark. “The more cards in our suit, the less there will be in other players’.”</p>
<p>Cal laughed. “One heart.”</p>
<p>“That’s settled then.”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Iason agreed with his brother, sparing him an affectionate smile as the edges of amusement faded from his expression. “We stay as we are with the johns.”</p>
<p>It had been a long time since any of them saw the loss of life as more than a few misplaced cards. And yet, Katze felt troubled at the easy way the Blondies had reached their decision... coolly discarding soldiers like Zico.</p>
<p>The whispers of the rats held truths, many of them revolving around the state of the government. There were changes coming up, and coming up fast, and though he appreciated Iason’s steady hand, Katze didn’t necessarily agree with him on keeping the arrangement with the police as it were. Still, he had no choice but to bite back the argument and follow his leader.</p>
<p>He was but a card in the deck himself.</p>
<p>“No bid.”</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>The air outside had a crisp note to it, like the sky would crack open any moment to deck the streets with long-promised snow. Beyond the lot, somewhere behind the dark windows and desolate buildings stretching in line, merry families gathered round tables.</p>
<p>Riki lifted his face to it, breathing in a lungful of cleanness so foreign to the city. He opened his eyes to the more familiar night sky, cloudy and fog-laden in the distance, and drank in the solemn indigo.</p>
<p>Thoughts of the past swirled in his mind; bright memories tucked one next to the other inside a giftbag of nostalgia. A beat later, he turned away from it and pushed the dolly back inside the warehouse.</p>
<p>Zico would be returning within the hour, so he’d better hurry and finish the loading. A shadow followed him over the threshold. 

</p>
<p>“Riki!” a voice called out just as he was bending over to lift a box.</p>
<p>Riki started and reeled around, heart skipping. “Katze!” he sighed, grabbing the dolly to steady himself as he straightened up. “Uh, I didn’t hear you come in.”</p>
<p>“I’m told I have quiet footsteps,” Katze explained in a deadpan voice. He didn’t move to come in, as if waiting for an invitation at the door. “Is Zico here?”</p>
<p>Riki smiled with unease. “No, not yet.”</p>
<p>Katze nodded at that and stepped in anyway. “I’ll pop to the back for a minute,” he said then, and walked right past.</p>
<p>“Sure.”</p>
<p>Riki watched Katze’s back, wondering where he’d learned to sneak up on people like that.</p>
<p>It was painstakingly slow work that night and Riki couldn’t do anything about it. It would've been easier with only one other worker around, but Zico had told him he couldn’t entrust this warehouse to anyone else. Too clandestine for most or something to the effect.</p>
<p>Riki doubted the veracity of the words, guessing it was more likely nobody else wanted to work tonight. Not that he blamed them.</p>
<p>He didn’t have much to celebrate this year. New Year’s was for Bison, as always, but Christmas seemed to fade the older he got. Besides, Riki had no one to go home to for the night so dragging himself back to work had made the most sense, even if he felt lonelier for it.</p>
<p>Riki crouched to haul up another box and grit his teeth at the weight of it. He counted silently the boxes he saw out of the corner of his eye to make sure there weren’t more than a few left.</p>
<p>Although, whatever Zico’s reasoning for bringing him to work over here, Riki thought it made for a good change overall. The new lot was much smaller, tucked away between faded red bricks, and the wind in this part of town was a joke compared to the docks. Notably, it was in a less industrialized area, so there weren’t many policemen around either.</p>
<p>Whoever had been working during the day had made great efforts to set everything up for Riki—all he really had to do was load the boxes in the trunk. With some effort, he had wagered he could have it all done by ten o’clock... If his arms didn’t give out in the meantime.</p>
<p>And now Katze was puttering about too. What was up with him anyway? As he pushed the dolly outside, Riki looked over his shoulder to check if he could catch a glimpse of the elusive man.</p>
<p>Maybe he should talk to him about the raids, Riki considered all the way down to the truck. The weight of the boxes he loaded only deepened his need to find some clarity in the mess. It weighed on him, this job, the uncertainty he battled with each new day at the warehouses.</p>
<p>The cops didn’t have time to follow up on every lead passed into their hands, so there had to be something going on for them to descend upon Katze’s lots with repeated aggression. And they had definitely wanted to get their hands on him and Zico that day. Riki had a feeling it was going to be bad news, but it was past due to check in with his boss and find that out for himself.</p>
<p>By the time he had lined up the crates in the trunk, Riki decided to try broaching the subject.</p>
<p>“Katze!” He called out once he was back.</p>
<p>Katze’s head popped in the doorway, his eyes scanning the space until they landed on Riki. In the dim light, it was easy to pretend he wasn’t as dangerous.</p>
<p>“Got any plans for New Year’s?” Riki asked. He winced at the look Katze gave him in return.</p>
<p>“I don’t celebrate,” Katze said, clipped, and made to dip back into the office.</p>
<p>“I see,” Riki dragged out his words. “Actually, I wanted to speak to you about something…” he mumbled, hoping Katze wasn’t listening. “That is, if work will go on during the hols.”</p>
<p>“What is it?”</p>
<p>“Well, it’s about raids on the other side of things… ” Riki trailed off, hoping Katze would catch his drift. “You know, drugs.”</p>
<p>“Pardon?” Katze stepped outside the office this time, staring at Riki. “What drugs?”</p>
<p>Riki shuffled his feet, parking the dolly by the leftover boxes. He sighed and looked up at Katze. “I know the cops are sniffing you out,” he said, sounding more accusatory than he meant to.</p>
<p>Each word weighed more than the last, a burden of guilt heavier than the countless crates he had put up in trucks to distribute around town. He wasn’t sure Guy would ever forgive him for betraying his trust. Riki just had to know for himself...</p>
<p>Katze stood ahead silently, one arm propped against the doorframe making him appear even taller. Like a giant spider which would pounce upon Riki at first chance.</p>
<p>“Do you deal?” Riki asked with quick resolve. He could feel his conversation with Katze run its course.</p>
<p>“What are you on about?”</p>
<p>“You know exactly what I’m talking about. They said your name too!”</p>
<p>“So?” Katze stepped forward. “Didn’t we talk about this? When you begged me to let you work for me. Do you remember, Riki? I told you, you had to—”</p>
<p>“I still’ve no idea what I’m doing here!” Riki shouted back. His voice reverberated in the near-empty room, only to slap him in the face as it made a round. “Nobody tells me a thing! And I know the cops are targeting you because I was there, Katze, I was there with Zico that day!”</p>
<p>“I know that,” he snapped. “Who’s your informant?”</p>
<p>Riki reeled. “What? No.” He wouldn’t let Katze distract him so easily. “You tell me right now—are you dealing?”</p>
<p>“You should know better than ask.” Katze walked closer, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. Was he getting ready to fight?</p>
<p>“I’m just trying to help out.”</p>
<p>“Oh, yeah? You in?” Katze reached for one of the boxes and pulled out a pocket knife, using it to cut it open. “Look then,” he said to Riki, opening the flaps.</p>
<p>Inside the box, packed tight between scraps and clumps of paper, were a dozen bottles. Of the variety Riki had sometimes spied at doors along with cruder barrels rolling in the sand. Bootleg.</p>
<p>“You’re <em>this</em> deep,” Katze hissed and pushed the box towards Riki. The bottles rattled truth in his face, exactly as he’d asked.</p>
<p>Except he had, in a way, known it from the start. Luke needn’t have said that the work itself was less savory than most—Riki had enough street smarts to read between the lines and play along for his own gain. Whether it had been sheer boredom or wanting something other than the dead-end gigs coming his way, he hadn’t been able to resist the lure. He had wanted it.</p>
<p>“You wanted to go on lying to yourself?” Katze said, sounding bored. “I think you knew it from day one. Now, tell me, Riki, did your copper friends send you over, or are you really just a lowly rat?”</p>
<p>Riki swallowed. Katze’s directness was disconcerting. “I’m not spying for anyone,” he said, adrenaline coursing defensively through him. “You gave me a chance back in your office and I’m repaying that. I won't owe anyone.”</p>
<p>Katze’s mouth twisted. “I already know they’re sniffing. Consider me warned and mind your business.”</p>
<p>“Then why—”</p>
<p>“You know nothing about this, Riki. Nothing. What you should do is your job—load up the damn boxes, get paid, and keep your mouth shut.”</p>
<p>They stood staring at each other. The only sounds in the warehouse being their harsh breaths and the scratch of mice somewhere in the back, they both heard the footsteps right away.</p>
<p>Zico stepped in through the door and paused, looking back and forth between the two. “What’s going on here?”</p>
<p>Riki turned to him, not sure where to begin or how much to say. He’d gone about this all wrong. “I…” he started, licking his lips. “I just wanted to—”</p>
<p>“Riki wanted to know what was in the boxes,” Katze said, overriding Riki’s faltering voice. He sounded unbothered. “So I showed him.” He folded and pocketed his knife.</p>
<p>Zico’s gaze landed on the torn box, the necks of bottles gleaming exposed. “Alright,” he nodded.</p>
<p>“And so, Riki, you'll do your job and leave us to ours.”</p>
<p>“Right. Right.” He bit his lip, wishing he hadn’t pissed Katze off.</p>
<p>Riki turned away and crouched to pick at the box to see if any of it could be salvaged. He stared at the bottles inside, thinking about each time he had willfully put them into trunks and helped distribute them to the city mills.</p>
<p>He closed his eyes.</p>
<p>When Riki turned around to repackage the box on the worktable, both Zico and Katze had gone into the office, the door firmly shut behind.</p>
<p>One of them had left cardboard on the table for him.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Many thanks to B., who laid out the ground rules of bridge to help me navigate this chapter. As it is, card games seem to be one of those things that don’t stick with me, so I lifted the process off of <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9GQGfdlNYyM">Shaw Taylor’s video tutorial on YouTube</a>. So, many thanks to Shaw Taylor as well.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Morning unfolded with ease ill-befit to winter, grey tendrils of industrial smoke dancing in and out of sight. Further down this part of town chimneys were long into their workdays, and people in habits, busy and downcast, passed by without so much as a glance toward the lot. To each his own—the same spirit that had brought Riki into this particular fold. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His thoughts quieted, though weighty as a blanket.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He bent down and dipped his brush in the dye, stirring round so it didn’t solidify in the chill. His back to the warehouse, he could hear the occasional grunt from within, where Django poured barrel gin into bottles. ‘Bare gin,’ he had told Riki earlier. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Gin that the bootleggers bottled themselves to save on expenses.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Zico was somewhere in there too, gathering supplies from ends and corners and wiping the bottles dry to tuck away in boxes. He hadn’t said much to Riki, but his silence wasn’t puzzling.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was the day before New Year’s, and they were in a rush to distribute the last of the cocktail liquor to the mills in time for parties starting up that very eve. A previously-missing batch had arrived from Syracuse in the small hours, in barrels instead of bottles. Cost-saving, but time-consuming.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It felt strange to be working the lot with things out in the open, Riki had discovered coming in that morning. Bigger somehow. And yet, ignoring the wrongdoing, one could say the three of them worked like a well-oiled machine, despite their odds against a trunkful of booze.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There’s no time for that now,” he murmured at the unease in his gut, and grabbed the next box. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>One by one, he painted broad strokes over the labels with black dye, the way Zico had shown him. It even looked a bit artistic if you squinted. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What are you doing?” Robby, their regular driver, asked as he sauntered by. Riki hadn’t heard him arrive.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Painting,” he answered, though the edge to his voice could have been from the cold. “Zico had artichoke wholesale boxes around — don’t ask </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span> — and he said to redecorate them,” Riki explained, glancing at the flimsy fence shielding the backdoor from the public.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Robby smirked as he tossed a mangy snipe down by his feet. “Too flashy, eh?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Riki dipped his brush in the bucket and went on painting. Three broad strokes at a time, then flip it over to dry.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His hands were getting numb, but he only had a couple more boxes to paint over before he went in to help Zico pack. Robby’s arrival meant that they were about to begin loading the truck, and the help would be welcome. With one last push, they could all leave for home early.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He thought of his little stove, longing to press his freezing fingers against its smolder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A sharp inhale to the side steadied his hand. Riki turned to see Robby stuffing something in his pocket, and followed his gaze to find a man entering the lot on foot.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Look busy, right?” Robby said to him, then grabbed several of the painted boxes and walked away with them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Riki watched him go, using the opportunity to eye the newcomer on the sly, and wondered what it was all about.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mornin’, big wheel!” Robby greeted the tall man, his soliciting voice carrying over in its pitch. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The </span>
  <em>
    <span>suit</span>
  </em>
  <span> had to be with the inspectors, Riki considered. Togged up to the bricks, he strolled in with great confidence, though he didn’t spare Robby more than a glance in spite of his enthusiastic greeting. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bending his head to resume his work, Riki painted the last stripe. At least the air wasn’t wet here and the paint could dry in time for him to pack up the bottles. As he was propping the box upside down, he noticed it had a tear in one corner that could end with bottles tumbling out in transit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looked up to scan the lot; the man wasn’t there anymore, presumably gone inside. Riki could go in himself and grab some padding for the box, except he wasn’t sure he should barge in on the group right away. They could be talking business… Or they could be in trouble, again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Riki’s heartbeat quickened at the memory of that near run-in with the police… But Zico could probably handle it just fine, he pacified, even if they were having over an inspector with the city or the like. They weren’t on their own at the lot this time either. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Besides, the new year was on the doorstep, and rising rumors of the ban lifting lent Riki hope that, whoever the man was, he wouldn’t give them much grief due to the occasion itself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He walked to the backdoor to fiddle with the chain keeping the backup dolly tied up. Bits of conversation floated over in between stifled clanking, though Riki couldn’t make out much besides the strip of the new voice, answering a question. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It didn’t seem like there was much to it, after all. Still, he went to press his ear against the door and listen in when Robby walked by his periphery and put an end to the idea. Feigning a tug of war with the chain, Riki freed up the dolly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It didn’t matter what they were talking about. He just wanted to finish the job and head home, and hopefully the new arrival wouldn’t hold them up much longer, Riki told himself as he pushed the dolly towards the front. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He saw Robby had parked the truck closer in preparation for loading, its engine silent while they put up the first few packages in the trunk.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Several minutes passed like that. Then Riki sighed, glanced towards the open front door. “I’m going to grab a pad for that one,” he said to Robby, pointing at the box from before. “It’s torn up a bit.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Robby nodded and took over the dolly, his face serious. He must have felt it too—the temperature dropping further, the bite of it sneaking under their musty workshirts.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emboldened by need, Riki approached the door. No voices were forthcoming as he went over the threshold, the silence odd and unexpected. Zico noticed him immediately, but he didn’t wave Riki away… or show any distress. Relieved, Riki turned right and all but smacked into the man he’d spied coming in. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello there,” he braced, stepping back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Caught by surprise, Riki lifted a flustered eyebrow. “Hello. D’you mind, I’m trying to get to...” He sidestepped the man in his panic, reaching towards the shelves behind him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, ‘scuse me.” The man, incredibly tall and immediate, moved further away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Busy managing his jumpy limbs, Riki missed the look Django sent his way. The </span>
  <em>
    <span>suit</span>
  </em>
  <span> sure liked to spritz on cologne, he thought instead, fingers blindly searching for bits of cardboard. If he ever returned to the lot, at least Riki could sniff him out from a distance.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Would you say this one is better then?” the man asked in the hush.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Riki stopped in his rummaging, wondering whether he was being addressed just then. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, it’s the good stuff.” Django answered before Riki could bother to clarify. Right.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Very well. Thanks, Django. Keep up your magic.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well, maybe he wasn’t an inspector. With a nervous intake of breath, Riki grabbed the padding he needed and turned on his heel. He was sure the man was watching him from under his hat, but didn’t linger to ask why. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He knew their names, big deal, Riki thought in parting. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>On the dirty street framing the lot, his eye caught on the shiny hood of a luxury car. This was the kind of place those cars both belonged and stood out, just like the man in the warehouse. Swallowing past his discomfort, Riki cast his eyes down and picked up the offending box. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And what’s your name?” he heard someone ask in the background. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He took a moment to answer. “Riki.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Distracted, he turned his chin to see the man stop next to him. He stood so close that if Riki straightened up, their shoulders would brush.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s yours?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The man stared down at him, hands casual about his trouser pockets. “Iason Mink.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Riki nodded. “Well, nice meeting you then,” he licked his lips, putting some space between them as he stood up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Likewise,” Iason Mink said. “How long have you been working this lot?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Riki blinked. “Just got here.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is that so.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He paused with the box in his hands. “Yeah.” Riki tapped the torn edge, making sure the spare cardboard was packed tight against it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Work another lot before?” Iason peered at him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Riki lied, checking if Zico was closeby as he put down the box. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Zico, of course, wasn’t around, and neither were the others. He was alone with this man and his strange questions.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A meandering gust of wind pushed up the man’s hat, and Riki spied a smile curling his thin lips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have to go now, work’s waiting.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mm. Well, keep it up.” Iason Mink gestured vaguely, a mean little glint to his eye. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Riki turned away dismissively and headed back inside the warehouse, thinking with each step how nice it would be to afford a pair of leather gloves.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>***</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They were standing round a fire at the far end of the blind alley, silhouetted in the dark, while spindly flames glinted off the festive windows of Norris’ building. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Other groups gathered on this and the neighboring streets. Somewhere above, a high-pitched song on someone’s radio carried over to stir their spirits. The city, always sweeping by grey with work, had donned a party dress. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For a cool minute, Riki thought about slipping away. His friends hadn’t seen him, would never know he had made it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He watched them like that from a distance. Bison. They had been thick as thieves, once. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Riki took a deep breath, sadness weighing down his heart as he tried to remember who he was with them. Right. He shoved his freezing hands deep in his pockets, then pulled them back out in anticipation.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nodding to others as he passed by, he made his way to his group of friends.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Riki!” Norris called out with exuberance when he spotted him approaching. He was already sporting two drunken spots high on his cheeks. “Come on over!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Feels like forever!” Luke thumped Riki on the back, pressing a bottle in his hand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Riki handed it back. “It sure does,” he said amicably and winked with remembered ease. “I’ll take this later.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A nod to Sid. Guy wasn’t there. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stepped up to the barrel, his fingers full of pins and needles as he toasted them over the fire. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How are you doing, Riki? Been busy, eh?” Sid elbow-bumped him from the side. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stumbled with it, a spark licking at his sleeve as he pulled away. “Holidays,” Riki said simply, voice tight. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Someone coughed in the background. Jolting back, Riki’s eyes flitted among his friends. “You?” he asked broadly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hitting all of ‘em,” Luke answered with a grin. He paused for a sip and moved closer to tell his tale.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Be swell myself, if I medicated as much,” Sid spoke over him, just a bit on that side of vicious. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Riki’s head snapped up in surprise. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What the hell was that about?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Even more surprisingly, Luke himself was rearing for a fight, his mood flipped, when Norris stepped in:  “Hey, hey. Break it up! I don’t want tonight to be miserable,” he pleaded. “Tonight is for Bison, right?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You bet.” Luke’s teeth gnashed. “Except this wisehead is already too miserable for his own good,” he added under his breath, fully aware Sid could hear him all too well. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sid’s beady eyes glittered. He pointed at the bottle in Luke’s hand, making a rude gesture a lot like taking a messy swig, then turned to Riki. “Boozehound,” he accused, his aim ambiguous. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shit. Riki stared at him, challenge on the tip of his tongue—Sid was an ass, but not like this.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Without Guy here to balance them out, all of their frustrations foamed on the top. But someone had to do something before they bit each other’s heads off. It wasn’t even midnight. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Across the barrel, Norris lifted his arms in exasperation and retreated, going off about shitty booze and shittier friends. There was no one else to step up. In times like these, necessity trampled hesitation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, man.” Riki reached out to clasp Sid’s shoulder. “What’s going on with you? Got the promotion?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And that put an end to it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Luke stepped away to the side, out of Sid’s sight, though not before he grabbed a brand new bottle to spite him. Norris, eager to hear Sid’s stories even when he was sore with him, brought over a reconciliatory plateful of skewered potatoes and reclaimed his spot beside the fire. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Guy joined them not too long after. He walked up behind Riki and embraced him, whispering a “Happy new year it’ll be” laden with promise in his ear. Riki’s shoulders dropped in relief. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He heard celebratory laughter in the apartments above and songs come to a halt to cheer in the new year. Here, like this, at last it felt like the heart of all winter memories was at liberty to beat without distraction. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The stories broadened with each bottlecap that came off... Luke’s adventures in Hell’s Kitchen, Norris’ crazy clients at the shop, Riki’s old bike — which would see the light of day once again, he joked — and Guy’s and Sid’s coffee-stained police reports featuring the most bizarre gossip.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Later, when they had all had a good gulp of beer and Guy was loudly dividing the last of their meal in crude attempts at sandwiches, Luke sidled up to Riki unnoticed. He spoke quietly but with startling clarity, his eyes trained on Sid.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t trust him,” he said. “Playing a peeper, thinks he’s a big shot now. Be careful around him. Guy too.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Riki swallowed, drunk enough not to be shocked at the claim, but still, a weight set in his stomach.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As if he’d heard his name spoken, Guy searched them out. He stopped and frowned, a strip of meat dangling in his hand, and tilted his chin to ask </span>
  <em>
    <span>What?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Luke shook his head and grinned wide right away, squeezing Riki’s shoulder with meaning as he did it. “Guy, you gotta hear this one!” He dragged Riki over to grab the food. “I was just telling Riki about this baby I came across the other day, no bluenoser, let me tell you…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tuning out Luke’s pretend-tale, Riki looked around himself as if compelled to memorize these vestiges of their time together. And while he nodded and sounded his support where Luke prompted, he tried, in vain, to shake off the newfound dread snaking about him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>None of this, even the merriest of times with his friends, felt as warm as it once had.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey, you. Thank you for sticking with me. x</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He had shucked his trousers off in the hurry, leaving them crumpled on the ground while he and Guy rolled beneath the blanket. Riki frowned and tried to smooth out the wrinkles as he shuffled on one leg, trousers pulled halfway up his thighs.</p><p>It was fucking cold in this flat.</p><p>“... so you know anyone looking to hire?” Guy was saying. The clatter of dishes stopped and he turned around to watch Riki hobble into his pants.</p><p>Riki lifted his head to stare back at Guy, who had a question hanging around his mouth. “Not really,” he said, hoping he’d heard right. He tucked his shirt in and buttoned up, and as he did that, Riki noticed a note on the ground. This yours, he almost asked as he bent down to pick it up.</p><p>“Why?” Riki said instead, unfolding the paper. Time slowed as he read, again and again.</p><p>“I just told you—Luke’s short on money and he’s been asking around for work… Are you listening? What’s that?”</p><p>Biting his lip, Riki stuffed the slip in his pocket. Guy’s eyes were like flint across the room. “My landlord. He’s certifiable,” he said off-handedly. “Maybe I’ll just look for a new dive…”</p><p>To his relief, Guy caught the bait. “You can move in anytime,” he said slowly, his eyebrows lifting. “It’s not much, but I got this…” He dangled the small jar of flax. “How’s that sound?”</p><p>A shy smile teased Riki’s lips, but his mind drifted elsewhere.</p><p>“Wasn’t Luke running errands for some union in Upper?” He asked, grasping at their halted conversation. At Guy’s funny look, he added: “Not <em>that</em> sort of union, Guy, c’mon. Can we just move on?”</p><p>Chest trembling with barely suppressed anticipation, Riki toyed with the edge of the note in his pocket. His lips, already bruised, swelled plumper under his teeth.</p><p>“I’m just teasing, relax,” Guy replied, calm and measured. “And no more, he said so.” His gaze followed the dip of Riki’s hand. “You look like you’re keeping a secret...” He said it casually, depositing the little jar on the counter, and didn’t meet Riki’s eye.</p><p>“Hah, a million and one more,” Riki chuckled, sounding forced to his own ears, then withdrew his hand and stepped forward. He reached Guy, only several steps away, and promptly kissed him. “Now that I know you have a stash, let me, before you leave,” he whispered, reaching for the jar.</p><p>Guy grabbed it before he could. He stretched his arm up and held it out of Riki’s reach, his free hand already undoing the buttons on Riki’s waistband. “Get it if you can.”</p><p>***</p><p>They were both a little late. Riki whispered the time against his lips like a cold shower of stars.</p><p>Guy pulled his hands back and said his goodbye, then ran out of the door, descending the steps two at a time to make it out before the car waiting for him drove away. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said as he slid onto the backseat, but Sid only shook his head in response.</p><p>It really wasn’t the best way to start a shift. At least he hadn’t gotten his ass fucked too.</p><p>“Your boy keeping you busy?” the driver asked with a smirk, unconcerned they were late.</p><p>He was a former cop, a nasty piece of work come out of retirement to drive them around and earn some more. Guy didn’t much like him, but he had no choice. They needed a good driver, which the man was, to get around when they were out on assignments like this, and he was too close to getting a proper title himself to get picky.</p><p>He sighed. The fact the man knew about Riki meant Sid hadn’t kept his mouth shut, which wasn’t a good sign if Guy wanted the respect of other cops in their precinct. He always,<em> always</em> had to put in double the effort compared to guys like Sid, no matter how you turned it.</p><p>“I misplaced my key,” Guy said mildly. Then, on reflex, he reached inside his jacket and felt for it. Turns out, he truly had misplaced the key, but it didn’t matter because Riki knew where to hide it on his way out. And it wasn’t like Guy had anything of worth to steal in his hovel.</p><p>That’s when the thought came unbidden. Where was Riki off to anyway? He hadn’t said.</p><p>Leaning back against the seat, Guy considered Riki’s act as of late. His brow furrowed, his thoughts heavy and muddled. Riki had shut off and become secretive, not the least because they could get into a row sometimes. That wasn’t Riki’s style.</p><p>Guy didn’t want to believe Riki was involved with the mob on the sly, not after all the talks they’d had since the offer first came up, but he wasn’t trusting Guy with everything either. He’d only said he had a plan and to leave him be while he worked it out.</p><p>Damn Luke for bringing up the neat deals. They’d made a good job of staying away from that kind of trouble for a decade, and then there he was, trying to undo it all.</p><p>No. Riki was too clever to get caught up like that.</p><p>And yet, sooner or later, Guy would have to prod further, figure out what was going on behind those unfathomably dark eyes, and find a way to offer up the world to Riki.</p><p>Guy turned his gaze to the street, daydreams rushing out with his breath. Just another day.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <em>21 Princes on fire. 1/2-10. </em>
</p><p>He had repeated it so many times, tucked tight up against the back of his teeth, there wasn’t a chance he could ever forget the note’s contents. The small piece of paper burned a hole in his jacket and Riki pushed his fingers against the worn lining of his pocket in a bid to avoid touching it.</p><p>He’d been paranoid, back at Guy’s place, but if Guy had read the contents, Riki didn't doubt he’d have insisted on coming along. And that’d be no good.</p><p>Riki had no clue what he was about to do there, only that the familiar handwriting—one he had spied once before on Zico’s order forms—plucked his strings anew and led him someplace again. Except, he had a lot to figure out on his own this time around.</p><p>Trailing out of the apartment after Guy, he had decided that 21 Prince had to be the street. What was there, however, was a mystery to him, just as the rest of the note.</p><p>Riki scooped a few coins in his palm and dipped underground to take the train. At least the block wasn’t too far off from where Guy lived. He could walk there on a good day, but aware that he was already likely late to the… whatever it was that was happening at 21 Prince Street, he’d gladly cut corners where possible.</p><p>Was there a firehouse in the area? Riki scrunched up his face in thought. He couldn’t remember. He’d passed it at some point, or he wouldn’t know about the street at all, but he didn’t recall the type of buildings. It wasn’t like the city was stagnating too; each way he turned his head, a new skyscraper popped up stark against the skies.</p><p>His journey was a blur, and when he arrived on Prince Street and saw no firehouse, Riki knew he was no closer to figuring it out than he'd been at the start of the morning.</p><p>Number 21 turned out to be a run-of-the-mill apartment building sandwiched between a restaurant on the street corner and an identical residential on the other side. All doors facing Prince Street belonged to the businesses on the ground floor, and Riki couldn’t see any backdoors.</p><p>He’d have to get inside one way or another, but the fancy-looking barbershop downstairs certainly wouldn’t let him through. Without key or clout, Riki would serve a prime excuse to have the cops called on him. He set out to investigate around the buildings and returned empty-handed once he realized they were each gated shut. One even seemed to have a mean-looking doorman keeping watch on the stairs outside.</p><p>He was running out of time, and he knew no one would appreciate him being late. In fact, there was no point in appearing at all if he was late, Riki considered. On the verge of giving up, he growled under his breath: “Fucking prick.”</p><p>Why couldn’t Katze leave him normal directions? What the hell was he going to… His eyes swept over the width of Number 21 across the road.</p><p>A woman was draping a blanket to air on the windowsill there. She heaved it over with great force, nearly knocking down a small bucket abandoned on the fire escape below. As if someone had breathed new life in him at that moment, Riki smiled through the frosty inhale and crossed the street. The fire escape—of course.</p><p>He waited by the barbershop for what felt like forever. There was no good way to get to the fire escape above him, not without making a racket in trying to reach it. Businesses were reopening their doors to customers all over the neighborhood, and people in heavy coats milled about without an end. Various cars puffed by as Riki stood there and weighed his options.</p><p>Propped up against the wall outside the shop, there was a shoddy crate someone left behind, reminding him of whistling shoeshiners dotting the streets in the warmer months. Riki glanced at it, then glanced up at the fire escape.</p><p>When traffic quieted, there were only a couple locals around who might have happened to look up at the fire escapes and noticed him hanging under.</p><p>Grunting with the effort, Riki kicked his legs and pushed himself up onto the ladder. His arms were on fire, his hands bruised and sticky from the frozen metal, and he had no idea what came next as he perched on the landing. He could only hope the woman with the blanket wouldn’t decide to fetch it right about then.</p><p>Riki surveyed the buildings stretching on either end as he blew on his hands, careful not to stand too close to the window. He looked to the side and did a double take when he spotted Katze’s face staring out the window of the building next door. Surreal.</p><p>A lit cigarette between his lips, the man opened the window and motioned for Riki to come in, as if he could just jump over and roll inside.</p><p>Riki balked. <em>What</em>, he gestured at Katze, exasperated, then looked around worried he’d be spotted. There were several cars stopping for business down the street and he was risking discovery with each second he stayed on the landing. Not to mention, he had somehow ended up scaling the wrong building altogether.</p><p>“Over the roof,” Katze was mouthing at him from the window. Holding the cigarette in hand, he drew the path Riki was supposed to take over to his side—jumping and crawling atop the roof of the business downstairs—and stared him down until Riki swallowed his surging disbelief and set about it.</p><p>It was easier than he’d thought, but he was, well, getting angry when he popped his torso in through the window and pulled himself inside the apartment. The first thing he saw was a gaudy, floral wallpaper, then the scent of cigars and sound of laughter hit him full-force.</p><p>“What was that for?” he asked Katze, thumping the wood of the windowsill. “Couldn't use a door? And this isn’t even twenty-one!”</p><p>“I wanted to see what you would do.”</p><p>Riki’s hands shook. “You— Why?”</p><p>Katze extended a cigarette in lieu of an answer, which Riki took and spitefully held up for him to light.</p><p>The corner of his mouth ticked up, Katze lit the smoke for him. “Don’t be rash,” he murmured, just as a kippy suited man rounded the corner and came into the room.</p><p>“And who might this be?”</p><p>The man, a tall variant of the suit at the lot the other day, looked down on Riki like he was a speck of dirt or something. His ridiculously long, blond mane was combed to the side, though several curls had thought better and strayed off. It didn’t even look real, though Riki doubted anyone would step outside with a wig like that.</p><p>Riki took an instinctive step back when the man reached for him, but it turned out he was only aiming to pluck the burning cigarette out of his hand. “Watch the carpet.”</p><p>Riki glanced down, seeing a rug ending at his feet, and felt his disbelief skyrocket.</p><p>“Raoul,” Katze began, though he sounded entirely too amused at Riki's expense. “This is Riki. He just made it in through the window.”</p><p>“Through the window,” Riki echoed, mouth tight as he met the man’s eye.</p><p>“Well, good for you,” the man, Raoul, said dryly. “Riki.”</p><p>He turned around, Riki's smoke dangling between his fingers as he waved. "I'll be back to go over the pages," he called to Katze over his shoulder. Then he was gone.</p><p>Riki shook his head.</p><p>“That’s a Blondie you just met,” Katze said, stubbing his snipe out on the sill.</p><p>Riki’s palms burned. Of course he’d heard of the Blondies—you’d have to be a special brand of idiot not to. People who grew up on the same streets as him knew by instinct.</p><p>“I can see that.”</p><p>They went by different names in each neighborhood: Big Brothers, Family men, Blondies. The point being, they were notorious all the same. There was not a single redeemable quality to their lot, yet many sang their gospels because they offered a leg up to slum mongrels like Riki.</p><p>One had a lot to gain by associating with them, or working to their purpose, people said. Craftily, they didn’t speak of the price you paid for that kind of association, which was often one’s life.</p><p>But even though he knew of them as one knew an urban legend, Riki hadn’t ever seen a Blondie in the flesh. It was the kind of thing you watched from a distance; you brushed it off before it drew you in.</p><p>“He’s your boss.” Katze's voice fell flat.</p><p>“Great.” Riki wiped the sweat off his brow. “Got another smoke?”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There was no way for him to have heard the initial crack of a punch, or witnessed the first tumble of bodies to the ground.</p>
<p>Ensconced in a car only marginally warmer than the frigid outdoors, Riki focused on parking parallel to the other iron. Good parking meant they could load it better, and they wouldn’t freeze working by the end. It also helped that their load wasn’t a large one this round, if ritzy.</p>
<p>Riki had thought passing Katze’s test would mean something, but he was still here, laboring under Django’s watchful eye, and still getting the same paychecks from Zico after a job done right.</p>
<p>He wasn’t greedy. Riki could now afford a filling meal after paying rent and that was just enough for him; he had just expected something different to go down after that day. Some… recognition.</p>
<p>Riki was aware that his dealings with the <em>upright citizens</em> wouldn’t bring him a pat on the back in his community, or any other he knew of, but it would make a difference to work cleaner. As an associate of the infamous Blondies, so long as he kept to the fringe, he could be seen as part of something bigger. After all, talk as they might about the white collars, people never badmouthed their useful businesses.</p>
<p>If Riki could be recognized as an important cog in the machine that kept the city running, he wouldn’t have to steal away to work or lie through his teeth about where he went. He knew they had all kinds of jobs for people like him, and he had already proved his worth. He had scaled a roof at Katze’s whimsy, for fuck’s sake.</p>
<p>Riki climbed out of the car and scanned the doorway for Django, then went round to the back to check how close he’d gotten to the loading dock. It’d do, he decided, eager to start loading.</p>
<p>Even with a smaller number of packages on their hands, he couldn’t help it—he was on a constant edge lately. It didn’t help that the day had started after a fashion, nervous with the news.</p>
<p>They didn’t have their usual trucks in—courtesy of the Mayor, who had seized them for inspection at the city borders. Good thing they had been empty too, Riki considered with a grim expression, and shrugged off the memory of his run-in with the cops.</p>
<p>On second thought, there was no way he could tell people about any job he did related to the mob. He scowled, unhappy. There was simply no respect to enjoy in this line of work. </p>
<p>That’s when he heard it filter in: a cry for help, followed by some grunts and scuffs, and more muffled shouting. His head whipped round, tracing the familiar sounds with growing awareness.</p>
<p>Something was happening past the gate. Wasting no breath, Riki turned on his heel and headed out to inspect.</p>
<p>To his relief, it was just a street skirmish out there; a couple kids, bloody and tattered, getting the short end of the stick surrounded by what could only be the local hoods. Still, six on two wasn’t fair by any stretch, even for the street.</p>
<p>Riki and Bison had thrashed a bunch of toughs like this in their part of town, he thought with relish. Each of the Bison boys had started out like these battered kids, arms up to protect their heads from the torrent of blows, often for nothing more than a hasty side-eye or a smart retort. They had worked their way up in blood, fight after fight, and people had eventually learned to leave them alone.</p>
<p>One of the kids closest to him caught Riki’s eye as he staggered up on his feet, a momentary contact before he was knocked back down. The goon who’d socked him, easily twice his size, leaned in and lifted his fist to strike again. It was brutal.</p>
<p>Riki tucked the ignition key in his pocket and glanced behind him. He’d sort this out before Django started the loading, he resolved, and squared his jaw as he stepped forward. “Oi, what’s going on here?”</p>
<p>There was a pause as all of them turned to Riki.</p>
<p>“You stay out’ this.” Threatened one of the beasts standing nearby.</p>
<p>Riki looked him up and down in turn. “Six on two ain’t fair game,” he said seriously as he walked up to the group. The drifting attention bought the kids a moment to wiggle free and drag themselves away. “So how about you pick on someone your breadth?”</p>
<p>“You,” someone cocked up to him then, “mind your own business, you hear me?” He poked Riki in the chest, a flicker of surprise on his face when Riki didn’t budge.</p>
<p>Riki grabbed his finger instead and bent it sideways, watching the wannabe’s pained expression.</p>
<p>“Stop that!” He pulled away.</p>
<p>“Then don’t touch me, eh?”</p>
<p>In spite, the guy shoved him again. Riki shoved back, backhanding him for good measure. Before he knew it, there were two others closing in on him from the sides, armed with nothing but the chutzpah one had with their mates around.</p>
<p>He avoided the first blow, but the second landed across his jaw. Riki only had enough time to lift his head and see a kid start to run away before he was crouching and tripping up one of the goons. Still, the biggest of them tackled him from behind, giving the opening for his spiteful friend to punch Riki in the stomach.</p>
<p>Sucking in a furious breath, he kicked and shimmied until they’d let him go. When he was on the ground Riki could give as good as he got. He clenched his smarting jaw and set about it, throwing punch after punch.</p>
<p>“Hey!” Someone was shouting in the background as Riki fought his way through. “Leave him—you! He’s not done anything to y’all, come on! Hey!”</p>
<p>Blood coated the kid’s busted lip, but he pleaded with the toughs, trying to get involved so he could come closer and pull Riki outside the vicious tangle. He shut up when a stray elbow knocked him down.</p>
<p>Riki didn’t have the time to deal with that. His shirt soaked up tracks of blood, and his knuckles were getting raw with the effort. He snarled at the group surrounding him, wishing at least one Bison crewman was around to help. And then, remembering a move Sid had taught him once, he angled his body and rammed into the biggest guy.</p>
<p>Indiscriminate with what was left of his strength, he flung his fists left and right, kicked and stepped on whatever he could. But the air was thinning, and he could only go on for so long. Anger tumbled out of his mouth as his limbs slowed against his will.</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>A frenzied call rippled above the walls surrounding the warehouse; unusual for this time of day.</p>
<p>Django, who spent enough time hunting upstate, had no trouble recognizing the sound of an animal going down. He was about to say so out loud when he realized Riki was nowhere in sight. His mouth thinned with displeasure.</p>
<p>Even so, when Django came to look for his wayward helper, he wasn’t surprised to find Riki caught up in a street fray just outside the lot. He knew the guy had it in him, something about the way he skulked around like a junkyard dog. There had been no doubt that it was only a matter of time before Riki got them in trouble, one way or another.</p>
<p>Django closed his eyes, cursing under his breath, and shook his head as he walked back to his car. Instead of roping in Zico, he might just have a chat with the boy himself. But before that… He retrieved something from under the car seat and followed in Riki’s steps.</p>
<p>No one noticed him arrive.</p>
<p>Django pointed his gun at the mass of bodies, his hand steady. “I suggest you hinkies get out of here before I heat you all up!”</p>
<p>When that failed to get their attention, he cocked the gun and pumped one up above their heads. In the ensuing silence, they finally saw Django standing there, and upon realizing the shot had come from him, the gang wasted no time scattering away.</p>
<p>“You!” Django shouted to the single straggler, a punk whose lip was split in three different unbecoming ways. “Run along and find another street.”</p>
<p>Django watched him go, gesturing dismissively each time the boy turned to check on Riki.</p>
<p>The streets had filled and filled to the point of overflowing with youths like them, looking for trouble and petty gains, engaging in power wars with no real weapons in hand. They had a lot to learn about gangfare, and so did the cock-up in front of him, Django thought crossly. Left behind in the aftermath, Riki swayed weakly, hands on his knees, and panted with the effort of remaining up.</p>
<p>“And you,” Django started, pocketing his gun as he addressed Riki, “I’m going to have a chat with you.”</p>
<p>Riki eyed him with a sinking feeling. “I already know what you’re gonna say, can’t help the rescue, pity—”</p>
<p>Django grabbed his shoulder, ignoring Riki’s wince. “Oh, you’ve no idea.”</p>
<p>He indicated the pocket with the gat, holding steady until Riki looked down at it. “You’re fucking stupid to get sniffed out by those rascals. And you just got them set on the lot. How about that?”</p>
<p>Riki swallowed reflexively. He hadn’t thought of it that way. He had seen kids on the ground and… Their suffering had felt a little too personal.</p>
<p>He nodded at Django, sobering up fast. He still had the keys on him too, jagged in his pocket. Riki could have lost them in the fight and cost the organization a lot of money—he just hadn’t thought that far.</p>
<p>“I get it.”</p>
<p>“No, you don’t!” Django shook him, face colored with violence and inches away from Riki’s.</p>
<p>Riki pulled away hissing, his temper flaring with the pain.</p>
<p>What was Django’s problem? It wasn’t like Riki planned to get involved with the locals.</p>
<p>He made to move away further, but Django followed; he wouldn’t let go. One step from losing it and falling into a frenzy again, Riki held a fist under his bleeding nose and stared back at the older man.</p>
<p>Django could shoot him if he wanted to, over this, he decided with brisk courage. He couldn’t help the churlishness. Riki had miscalculated, but he wouldn’t let himself be bandied about for it, and not by the likes of Django, who wasn’t even his boss. Fuck that.</p>
<p>“You don’t <em>get it</em>,” Django repeated, the threat lowering his voice as he rolled up a sleeve. “But you will. It’s time you learned what it means to be part of something bigger than your sorry ass.”</p>
<p>***</p>
<p>There was no railing to hold onto, so Riki climbed the stairs one by one with exaggerated care, listening for the sound of his boots pressing down. At the bottom of the staircase, the wrought iron remains that had once framed it rested in a sad stump. </p>
<p>They called it the Great Depression—the cold, mounting years of desperation.</p>
<p>Up and up he went, steadily to the brink of nausea. He shouldn’t have downed those two extra shots. Swallowing thickly past the film of alcohol on his tongue, Riki reached for balance against the wall and hoped he wouldn't sick up right there.</p>
<p>He grasped for breath shakily, eyes flitting about in the darkness in a last-ditch effort to distract himself from the churning of his stomach. That was how, up on the landing, he noticed a shadow waiting by his door. </p>
<p>

Great.</p>
<p>“I’ve had a day, Guy,” he started to say, loudly, then thought better. He had to be careful not to wake the crazy neighbors he kept—he and Guy pissed them off plenty already.</p>
<p>“So you better be ready to nurse me,” he added in a lower tone, a chuckle tickling the back of his throat.</p>
<p>“I don’t know about this Guy character, but I have no intention of nursing you back from the hell you put upon yourself,” came a cool voice from above.</p>
<p>Lead filled up the space in his stomach the alcohol had seared away. “<em>Katze.</em>”</p>
<p> Django had talked too, the rat.</p>
<p>“How the hell did you find me?”</p>
<p>“I have my ways.” Katze didn’t extend a hand, didn’t even blink when he saw the state of Riki.</p>
<p>It hadn’t been enough to fight those toughs, no; he had to get involved in a fistfight with Django. Who had won, of course.</p>
<p>Limping the last few steps to his door, Riki squinted and tried to regard Katze just as coolly. “By all means,” he gestured once he’d opened the door, fingers shaky on the knob. “Do come in.”</p>
<p>“You could try saving your words for an explanation.”</p>
<p>Katze stepped in and, without surveying Riki's hovel as expected, made a beeline for the only chair in the room. He sat on it slowly, crossing one ankle over the other, and watched Riki as he closed the door and propped himself against it. “Do you understand how—”</p>
<p>“Stupid I am? Reckless? Django already said so, and more.”</p>
<p>“Don’t interrupt me.”</p>
<p>Riki blinked. On the other side of the room—barely ten steps away, really—Katze stared him down some way. It didn’t matter that he was the one sitting and Riki was the one practically panting against his own door; Katze easily dominated the space, and his features were anything but kind.</p>
<p>“Low-key is the heart of this work, Riki. I thought you understood that when you came to me. There’s no space for trouble. I don’t care for excuses. You work, and you work quiet. That’s all I ask.”</p>
<p>Riki stared back at him, unwilling to apologize. He had no delusions about his job and his place in the overall scheme of things. He had just made a mistake. Everyone did.</p>
<p>“Your mistake could cost me a life tomorrow.”</p>
<p>He hadn’t realized he had spoken out loud. Riki’s gaze fell on his boots, tatty and cuffed, and he sighed. “I didn’t think. I’ll fix it.”</p>
<p>“There’s nothing for you to fix.”</p>
<p>So, this was how it ended, he thought to himself. His glorious career as a pro bootlegger. Riki wanted to laugh, but something told him it would only hurt. And he didn’t really want to laugh, not genuinely.</p>
<p>Katze stood up from the rickety chair. There was no sconce in the room, and barely any light from the street, but Riki somehow had no trouble spotting the dark shape of a gun in his hand. Bile seized in his throat at the sight of it.</p>
<p>He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came forth. He should have known. And maybe he had, in that way you tucked knowledge away, buried it somewhere close to your heart.</p>
<p>Good thing he’d had a drink after work, or Riki would have left this world without that last fuck you to society.</p>
<p>When he opened his eyes, Katze stood in front of him. He wasn’t threatening or laughing at Riki’s fear, just standing there looking at him. “You can use one, right?” Katze asked then, pressing metal into his palm with a ghost of a smile.</p>
<p>Riki darted a glance to his hand, surprised at the weight of the gun. It rested solidly against his fingers, cool and daunting. “Sure,” he lied.</p>
<p>He would figure it out. How hard could it be?</p>
<p>“Good.”</p>
<p>A step back and Katze was at a comfortable distance again, hands in pockets. “Find a quiet spot and practice steady hand. I don’t know if those kids will come back for you, but you’ll be ready either way. Don’t shoot at the coppers and it should be fine.”</p>
<p>Guy’s face flashed in Riki’s mind. “Right.”</p>
<p>He couldn’t picture shooting at anyone as it were. He was already feeling sick enough.</p>
<p>“And don’t get into fights. Even if they don’t strike, they can flip on us. Keep your head cool and your hands cooler. Understood?”</p>
<p>The word, like sandpaper, scratched his mouth bloodier as Riki answered: “Yes.”</p>
<p>He didn’t understand why Katze kept giving him chances. He was a botch, not good for much at all if his record was anything to go by. Head bowed, he leaned on the wall, sturdy and certain behind him. It was some time before he blinked and came to in a soft sway.</p>
<p>Katze had gone. The room spun around gently, empty and cold.</p>
<p>Riki was so tired and out of it, he hadn’t even felt Katze push past and leave. Hollowed out and not nearly as comforted as he would have liked by the end of the night, he crawled into his bed without bothering to take off his boots.</p>
<p>He was not sure what to do with the gun, so he tucked it under his pillow and curled his palm around it. He could decide later.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p><em>Upright citizens</em> is a nod to the brilliant Damon Runyon, who has been making me laugh quite a bit lately. It is, of course, sarcastic in nature.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> Oh, I wish I had someone to love me<br/>
Someone to call me their own </em>
</p>
<p>An infernal whistle carried over from somewhere past the wall, more irritating with each plaintive pipe. For what felt like the hundredth time that hour alone, Riki glared skyward, wishing there was no brick standing in the way so he could reach over and seize that melodious throat.</p>
<p>His blood was still running hot beneath the cracked veneer of his pride, though the wise guys had done their best to dampen his spirit. First Django, then Katze. Even Zico had given him a dirty look when he’d arrived for work.</p>
<p>It set Riki on edge, this boogie. He didn’t know the steps, and even with a gun in his possession, he wasn’t sure he could do much more than get his other side plenty injured. Only, it pissed him off that they expected him to get in trouble, had waited for it. He hadn’t gone looking for it, and his days of being a troublemaker on the street were long over anyway. </p>
<p>With a bitter sigh, he crouched and carefully hauled up a crateful. He definitely wasn’t looking to pick any more fights. Well, maybe with the whistler behind the wall, but nothing more serious. He shook his head with annoyance, ears full of the damned song. </p>
<p>The glass clicked in his arms as he walked it over to the trunk. The load itself wasn’t heavy, and he was used to the motions besides, but these days he had a lot more to carry around—it added up.</p>
<p>Though this was the last of crates to load before they rolled out the barrels. Then they would tuck in smaller bags of opiates in the crevices, to be transferred to their pockets later on. It was a risky move, but Zico wanted the shipment out before morning, and Robby could drive around the coppers. If Guy hadn’t practically been one himself, Riki thought he would have admired the man’s skill in the iron seat.</p>
<p>Riki tied the cord round the crates and tested the knot, pleased it was well-secured. In his efforts, the fleet-footed quietude went unnoticed. As he stepped away from the truck, however, he spied something out of place at the edge of his vision, and swiveled round for a better look.</p>
<p>There was someone standing by the gate—a lanky boy, smiling vaguely. He was, in fact, leaning against the frame and gazing at Riki with head tilted in a curious hello.</p>
<p>Riki smelled blood, though he knew there was none on him. Wounds healed, as always; memory didn’t. </p>
<p>“What do you want?” He asked the boy, then paused to take in his improved guise.</p>
<p>A far cry from the ripped up clothes Riki had first seen on him, he now sported a worn yet expensive-looking coat, sailor trousers, and the gaudiest crimson shirt with no tie, the kind actors would wear on stage for laughs. It was hard to look away—that’s how bad it was altogether. </p>
<p>“I wanted to thank you,” the boy said, his voice barely broken, and stepped through the gate. “For the other day.” </p>
<p>Belatedly, Riki hurried over to intercept him before he came in any further. “Yeah, you’re welcome, alright. You have to go now.” He stopped in front of the boy, their statures near the same, and gestured to show him the way out. </p>
<p>He peered at Riki instead, lingering over the remnants of a black eye. “So what do you do here?” he asked breezily, still smiling like his lip wasn’t hurting with it. </p>
<p>Was he being facetious?</p>
<p>Either way, Riki couldn’t afford to get distracted like that again. The important bit here wasn’t that the boy was cheeky, it was that he wasn’t making track. In fact, his gaze flitted over the lot, taking in the warehouse, the trucks with the loads, the scattered crates, the empty, soiled boxes in the corner… Whatever he could see was already too much.</p>
<p>Riki opened his mouth to try a more aggressive suggestion when he heard Zico calling out for him in the back. “Last one, I promise!”</p>
<p>Caught by surprise, Riki hesitated. The boy seemed to catch on and glanced at him pointedly.</p>
<p>“I’ll be right back,” Riki rattled after a moment, the words quicker than he could hold in. “You should leave!” </p>
<p>The boy took a retreating step, but Riki doubted he’d be convinced that easy. If anything, he thought the boy might bring over his pals to buy back their favor, or just finish what they’d started on the street. With no other choice but to turn his back, Riki sucked in a breath and went to answer Zico’s call. Guided by grim visions, even as he walked toward the warehouse, his feet felt like they were halfway bolted to the ground. </p>
<p>When he got back, a box in tow, he spotted the boy by the truck. He had his hands in his pockets, but he was leaning over to look inside the trunk with barefaced curiosity. </p>
<p>This was a bright boy, Riki didn’t need anyone to tell him as much, and he would figure it out fast... if he hadn’t already. His mismatched eyes were aglow when he fixed them on Riki. </p>
<p>“You need help round here?” </p>
<p>“No.” Riki slowly lowered the box down. “I told you to scram.” </p>
<p>He could just sock it to him, Riki considered with some urgency as he remembered there were at least three mean booters present on the lot. And yet, seeing the boy’s bruises from the beating plain as day on his face, Riki knew he wouldn’t go through with it.</p>
<p>He opened the iron door and lifted the box to the seat, screwing his eyes shut when the bottles clinked tellingly. </p>
<p>“You <em>look</em> like you could use the help.” </p>
<p>Even his voice was annoying. </p>
<p>“Listen,” Riki turned back to the boy, but it was too late. Behind him, Zico was discreetly walking over, hand ready to dip inside his coat. He could pull out the gun and fill him with daylight, and the boy would be none the wiser.</p>
<p>“You…” Riki faltered.</p>
<p>The boy noticed his drifting gaze and swiveled round to see Zico approaching them.  </p>
<p>“Name?” Zico asked him, wearing a neutral expression Riki had somewhat come to dread.</p>
<p>“I’m Kirie,” the boy answered readily, glancing back to Riki. “We’re friends.”</p>
<p>Before Riki could refute, the boy’s hand found his shoulder and squeezed generously. “I was just asking Riki if you wanted any help.”</p>
<p>The bastard knew to grab his bad side. At his own expense, Riki shrugged him off and stepped away. They weren’t friends and he’d be damned if they looked the part.</p>
<p>Zico gave Kirie a one-over, pausing at the bruises. “You keep interesting friends,” he said to Riki. “But you have to keep them outside, you know?” </p>
<p>“Oh, I know,” Kirie answered in his stead, tone light and coaxing. “I invited myself in, spotted him in a bind with the box here and just thought I’d help.” </p>
<p>Riki couldn’t believe the gall of him, and he was sure it was showing. But rather than indulge the boy’s solicitous grin, Zico was already peeking past him to the box on the seat. </p>
<p>“How kind of you.” Zico turned to Kirie. “Now go.”</p>
<p>“Pa—”</p>
<p>“You heard me. Get out.” </p>
<p>Kirie stuttered at Zico’s sudden change in demeanor. </p>
<p>It took getting used to. Instead of listening in any further, Riki went to close the door of the truck. This was bad. Potentially very bad. If Django came over and saw the boy… He would recognize him in an instant, and he’d be as good as dead. </p>
<p>He was just a stupid boy off the streets. He didn’t know any better. Riki had been in his shoes, knew how hard he’d have had to fight for each piece of bread and clothing.</p>
<p>“Right.” Riki broke the tension despite himself, though privately he was glad to have found his voice again. </p>
<p>“I think you should head out and go home. <em> Kirie. </em>” He gave the boy a look laden with meaning. </p>
<p>A side-glance at Zico told Riki he was moments away from pulling the gun on the idiot. “I’ll see you later,” Riki played along, just to buy him time.</p>
<p>“Go!” He prompted when Kirie took too long, obviously displeased to be chased away. </p>
<p>Glowering at both of them for spoiling his plans, Kirie huffed in frustration and left without saying anything else. This time, he didn’t turn around to check on Riki either. </p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Sore as he might have been with the lot of them, the place was duller without the constant murmur of work in the background. When they were all around, it was a lot like being with Bison in the old days, back when they would each do their thing while spending time together, but that was no thought Riki wanted to sit with. </p>
<p>Still unsettled from the encounter with Kirie, Riki grabbed item after item scattered around the warehouse and abandoned them on the workbench, too distracted with his thoughts to simply find their original places. </p>
<p>Zico had left him behind to clean up while they drove away with the trucks, though Riki knew he'd return to lock up the place. If not Zico, someone else would swing by. Riki wasn’t high up enough on the totem pole to hold the keys himself, and that was probably for the best given his propensity to get involved with the locals. </p>
<p>Riki snorted at the voice in the back of his mind that sounded a whole lot like Django and grabbed a rag to wipe the distillation unit dry. The local hoods were a threat in their own right, he would give them that, but not as big as a fallout with the mob.</p>
<p>As he twirled glass in his hands, he watched the faint show of light it put up on the wall. But before he got too engrossed in it, he wheeled round to squint at the doorway. </p>
<p>Knowing Katze, and pretty much the rest of the guys, liked to sneak up on him, Riki had propped a wooden rectangle cut by the door to alert him if someone tried to come in while he had his back turned. And even with that, he kept glancing back just in case. </p>
<p>It was paranoia creeping up on him; he felt it taking a steadier hold each passing day. Even the gossamer shadows of the fading winter sun looked like enemies if you were in deep enough. </p>
<p>He put the glass down on the table, and a good thing he had, because in the next moment he heard the plank crash to the floor. Riki spun around with impish readiness, but his smirk fell fast when he saw who was standing in the doorway. </p>
<p>Looking down to the piece of wood prostrated at his feet like some sort of walkway was one Iason Mink, familiar to Riki from his previous visit to the lot. Shit. </p>
<p>Riki’s mind stuttered to a halt. </p>
<p>“Hello, Riki.” Iason greeted him, sidestepping the plank in a stride as he walked into the warehouse. “That’s a nice trap you’ve set up there.” </p>
<p>Riki swallowed, cursing himself for not bringing his gun along. He was… not confident with it, despite the load he’d sold to Katze about knowing how to use one. And by that logic, it made no sense to bring it along when he couldn’t even cock it proper. Besides, this was not something he could have seen coming. A bit like the fight itself. </p>
<p>There was no contraband remaining on the lot, but if Iason Mink wanted to make a statement by plugging Riki, he wouldn’t face much in the name of resistance. </p>
<p>“Cat got your tongue?”</p>
<p>Grounded by the lick of mockery, Riki snapped his mouth shut in irritation, then promptly opened it again to answer. “Iason,” he acknowledged curtly, trying to keep the turmoil out of his voice.  </p>
<p>Surprisingly, Iason’s eyes brightened at that. “So you remember me,” he said more pleasantly, though he didn’t offer to shake Riki’s hand. </p>
<p>Self-conscious about his appearance, Riki wiped his palms on his trousers. Well, he could at least talk big game. “What brings you here?”  </p>
<p>For some reason, this, too, must have come across well enough, because Iason Mink grinned at Riki as if he’d said something tickling. “I was in the area, so I thought I’d check in on my friends,” he chatted, taking his hat off to reveal a towhead of curls. </p>
<p>Riki stared at him, only half-listening to the words. He was preoccupied with the alarming thought that if he’d had such a hard time getting Kirie to leave before, he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to get this man out on his own. This confident, grown man, who towered over Riki and exuded power with each gesture. Who was making himself at home right here.</p>
<p>The wise guys returning to find him with Riki was not exactly a comforting thought. Without them, it’d be harder to come up with answers or excuses for what went on. With them present, on the other hand, Riki couldn’t be sure they wouldn’t go in for the kill right away and make a great big mess. Then again, Iason Mink sure looked like he could take care of himself, friend or foe to the mob. </p>
<p>“I see,” Riki nodded at last. Then, before Iason could say anything else: “Who are you really?” </p>
<p>Eyes narrowed on the man in front of him, Riki leaned back against the workbench and crossed his arms. He didn't think the mafia kept friends, or at least not the kind Riki had understanding of. </p>
<p>Iason stared at Riki like he was trying to understand something himself. His smile was slower this time, not as easy and far more deliberate, making Riki wonder if he shouldn’t have asked.</p>
<p>It just didn’t make any sense. If Iason was not a corrupt suit come to strike a deal with the mob, and not aggressive enough to be a rival or enemy of some degree, then Riki could only pin him as… Riki's eyes widened as the idea dawned on him, sharp and acrid. Iason Mink had a certain air about him that reminded Riki of another man like that he'd met recently—Raoul. Remembering that, for a second time in so long, his thoughts tapered off.</p>
<p>Iason picked that moment to answer. “I’m of the Family,” he said without preamble. “I head the syndicate. Although, I suppose... after all, I am just another Blondie.” He shrugged, still smiling. There was expectation in the way he spoke, not unlike sharing a joke and waiting for the other person to laugh.</p>
<p>“You’re <em>the</em> boss.” Riki told him seriously, feeling oddly bereft. </p>
<p>“I am.”</p>
<p>Blindingly, everything made sense in hindsight. But then a raw bout of fear cut through Riki as he realized the truth of those words. He was starting to sweat under his jacket, too uncomfortable to stop himself from fidgeting. The fear—the real thing, not meagre daily doubts—gnawed at his bones. </p>
<p>Riki wasn’t one for cataloguing, but he did his best to go over every interaction he’d had with the man, just to gain some ground to stand on. There hadn’t been many to start with, and not overly negative the way he saw it. Still, he had no way of knowing whether his ignorance had offended the Blondie. </p>
<p>Iason kept watching him throughout Riki’s silent meltdown, twirling his hat in gloved hands. “Well?” He prompted after several stilted heartbeats. “Nothing to say?” </p>
<p>Riki clung to his pride. There was no sense in playing pretend when he had already revealed his hand. “Not really,” he sulked.</p>
<p>Iason chuckled. “Unimpressed. I like you,” he stated plainly, but his eyes were sparkling with amusement. </p>
<p>“I’m glad,” Riki deadpanned, playing along and earning himself a snort. “That you’re having a jolly time with me over here, I mean.” </p>
<p>“I am, yes.” </p>
<p>If there was something unveiled in Iason’s voice, Riki chose to ignore it.</p>
<p>“So then, who’s Raoul?” he asked out of genuine curiosity. Katze had introduced the man as his boss, and he had certainly acted like it back there.</p>
<p>Iason’s face showed surprise in turn. “My brother. He manages some of the divisions,” he volunteered. “I oversee the lot.” He prowled over to Riki and put his hat down on the table behind him. “And you? Who are you, Riki?”</p>
<p>Riki tried to take a step back, but there was nowhere to go. Iason had him pinned. He swallowed, more reflex than a statement, and put his hands down on the table. </p>
<p>“No one in particular.” He looked Iason in the eye, keeping steady.</p>
<p>“Yes?” Iason tilted his head closer still, his pale curls within reach. “Just Riki?” His slanted gaze… </p>
<p>He must have had something else humorous to say, but the headlights of a car stealing through the doorway alerted him, as well as Riki, to someone else’s presence on the lot.  </p>
<p>“Excuse me,” Riki said, swiftly pushing past him, and went to the door for a breath of air just as much as to see who had come to lock up the place.</p>
<p>His heart hammered in his chest like he’d been running for miles. He hadn’t been running in this sense in a very long time—since he'd met Guy, in fact, and paired up with him. Feigning nonchalance as he pushed aside any concerns about a crime boss' more base intentions, he lifted a hand to wave at Zico. </p>
<p>"It's Zico," he turned to say to Iason, who had lapsed into silence where Riki had left him.</p>
<p>Iason nodded. "Until next time, then." </p>
<p>With some mystery to his promise, Iason tipped his hat at Riki before he placed it back on his head and walked past to meet Zico outside.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The song at the start is <em>I wish I had someone to love me</em> by Vernon Dalhart. Also, I might have forgotten to mention that Robby (Lavi) and Django are two separate characters in this story.<br/>Thank you for reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Zico pushed his hair back as he climbed the slush-slick stairs to the street, a messenger bag dipping heavily at his side. Of all places they could have picked to meet on the day, it had to be this one. Shaking his head, Zico grabbed the railing and climbed the last stretch to emerge onto the street. He didn’t stop to exchange looks with the other commuters, only elbowed the bag closer to his side and turned on his heel to try and spot the statue. </p><p>Madison Square was a bustling place any time of day, and especially around lunchtime. He had to marvel at Cal’s <em> genius </em> to call a meeting there, right under the nose of the city’s police. And yet, blending with the crowd, no one would take note of them: the dapper man in a suit walking alongside the dock worker in overalls. On these grounds, people of all walks frequently crossed paths. </p><p>He walked onto the clearing, taking in the bare trees of January whistling with the wind, and very nearly missed Cal. Still as a statue, he stood close to the entrance to the park, extending an arm when Zico was about to pass by without seeing him. </p><p>Startled by the gesture, Zico turned with a hand on the bag. “Oh,” he sighed upon seeing it was just Cal. His mouth slackened with relief. “Good to see you, Cal.” He was lying, and they both knew it, but it didn’t matter either way. </p><p>“Yes, well.” Cal’s stoic face didn’t betray his feelings. “Let’s walk.”</p><p>If that was the way it had to be: “Any solutions for our little problem?” Zico asked with no more preamble. He tilted his head to point out the cop standing guard in the square. <em> Katze has avoided giving me an answer </em>, he didn’t add. It had been unlike Katze, that.</p><p>“None you would like.” </p><p>At least he was frank; Zico would give it to him. “Go on,” he waved a hand, eager to hear anything that might mean moving forward. </p><p>Zico hadn’t lost any other men in the transition from the old year to the new one—it was hard to, when he barely had anyone working the docks. The previous losses, too, didn’t sting in a heightened moral sense; it was more like they were missing bodies to do the ever-increasing work, and clever, competent minds to stave off the coppers. The only replacements Katze had managed to bring in for Zico were on the greener side, though faced with the grimy reality of their work, they had adapted well enough.</p><p>Still, Zico needed more than one capable person per lot, and rather than hire a bunch of new hands that he’d have to train into whip-sharp smugglers over months, if not years, he would prefer they solved the problem of cop harassment for good. Cal, unfortunately, was instrumental to this, and he had taken too long to resolve the problem on his own. </p><p>Things had been different under Katze, who’d always seemed to have a fix up his sleeve. It was a shame he no longer orchestrated the dock operations—he was busy with other, bigger things these days. And he had still done more to help. </p><p>No matter. Caught in the net of a fading side of business, Zico had to hold on steady and train his faith on the only remaining person in charge of the docks: Cal. Then, be ready to jump when the ship started to sink.</p><p>“There are changes coming up,” Cal told him, pausing to check who was in their vicinity before revealing anything else. “And the Family is waiting them out. We did all we could to negotiate better conditions, now we see if the other side delivers.” </p><p>“They are growing just as desperate.” </p><p>None of this was news to Zico, who had a decade of experience at the docks under his belt, but the fact that the visits were too frequent to be incidental was not something he could brush aside to deal with later. Not anymore.</p><p>It was very simple at the core—at a time when the Blondies were hardly making any significant profit off of the boot, he stood to lose a lot more.</p><p>“I’m aware. We have to see how they act now that I’ve spoken to their…” Cal glanced around one more time, then pulled him closer to the exit. “Superiors. We just have to wait.” </p><p>Zico pressed his lips together. “How are we gonna deal with any incoming losses?” he asked instead of complaining, the words flat. </p><p>“You know we are keeping Riki on the lookout?” Cal asked in return. </p><p>Zico lapsed into silence as they walked. He considered the things Cal wasn’t saying, wondering where this was going. It was true that the boy had made for an interesting addition to the team, though Katze maintained to Zico that his arrival had been entirely coincidental. </p><p>“Katze is working out something,” Cal admitted, to no one's surprise. “We have big plans for him.”</p><p>The way he said it sounded like a lead-up, but Zico had been on the streets—he knew what made Riki stand out in their circles, the promise of him. </p><p>“He’s bagged for the East Side then.”</p><p>Cal nodded slowly, his hands hidden in the pockets of his long coat. “Katze just wants to give him some time, let us grow on him. He’s going to be fine, he says.” </p><p>Zico thought of the past couple of months, recalling Riki’s struggle in the beginning, and the hard work he brought to the lots. He missed the boy’s presence at the docks, but understood why they were taking him away. Which still left Zico on the losing side. </p><p>The worn fabric of his trousers twisted in his fist.</p><p>“I know you only have Alec with the contractors, and I might have a solution to that too. Just if we need to move him to comb with Riki while Django’s packing.” </p><p>“You won’t take Alec away!” Zico let out in a hiss before Cal shushed him with a finger. </p><p>Like he didn’t mean it, his eyes slid across Zico’s form, pausing for a beat at his scuffed shoes. He nodded, confirming something, God knew what. “We’ll find you new wor—” </p><p>“Cal, I don’t need new hands.” Zico stretched to his full height and jabbed Cal in the breast pocket, heedless of what it might look like to onlookers. </p><p>Cal scowled, but he didn’t reach to remove the offending hand.</p><p>“I need functional hands. Trained men. Riki was good. Sharp, works hard. Knows what’s what and finishes the routes on time. And Alec’s been a professional. I’ve no one else right now. Not with the holidays and not with that,” he lowered his voice with difficulty, “load of bullshit. No one wants their life on the line anymore. The profits are not good enough.”</p><p>Cal sighed, looking put upon. “I’ll give you Riki back once he’s done doing this for us.” </p><p>Empty promises. They would snatch him away for good, Zico knew it. Hell, even Cal probably knew it. </p><p>“And how long will that be?” Zico prodded even as he was barring himself from believing. “I have the big one to look out for at the start of February, and we’re still not done unwrapping the new <em>‘Real </em> gift package.” </p><p>“We’ll figure something out.” </p><p>Closing his eyes against the urge to reach up and shake Cal, Zico took a step back and breathed in deeply. The coolness helped soothe his temper—it was a fair reminder of everything he stood to lose if he let himself get too carried away. He opened his eyes to see a squirrel run past his feet with someone’s sandwich leftovers, crumbs and pieces of egg trailing in its wake. Touché.</p><p>“I think I might have someone,” he said at last, thinking of Riki’s friend. If Riki was game to work with them, Zico figured his friend wouldn’t be too hard to convince to follow in. </p><p>It was a hell of a risk. But no matter which way Zico looked at it, his side was tanking. No talks with Katze would fix that either; the man already did more than enough. He worked all day and long into the night to make sure they went to sleep with all their limbs intact. </p><p>To ensure the boys who had once loaded trunks could strut about wearing tailored suits.</p><p>“I give you full freedom to take in anyone you consider useful.” </p><p>“Your word.” </p><p>He had a bunch of places to swing by to deliver the opiates, and no more time to spare on bartering for his livelihood with Cal. With one last lingering look, hatred bright in his eyes, Zico turned on his heel and left the park. </p><p>Standing alone under the bare crowns of the trees, Cal’s shoulders slumped with a sigh.</p><p>***</p><p>The beer was a nasty taste in his mouth. Riki choked it down, thoughts scattered like droplets as he listened to Luke bemoan his situation.</p><p>“Right,” he said, nodding here and there, too busy getting drunk to lambast himself for not being a better friend.</p><p>It was hard, that was just it. The bonds of Bison already seemed like a thing of the past.</p><p>He took another swig from the bottle. “I don’t know what to tell you,” he said to Luke, much to his obvious disappointment. “There’s not much where I’m at,” he added, and felt thoroughly scummy for it. </p><p>Luke wasn’t stupid; he had told Riki about Katze’s feelers in the first place. But if there wasn’t a word, there wasn’t a job, and the winter offers had dried up fast.</p><p>“I just want to help,” Luke said in deference, his hands splayed open on the table. </p><p>He just wanted to help. Riki could laugh.</p><p>Luke thought he worked the docks still, loading up smuggled weapons in trade with Europe as the war loomed ever-closer. He had the idea, at least.</p><p>“I don’t have an in, you know? I’m just a body—they have me do this or that,” he told Luke, “but that’s it. And it’s quiet now. If there’s no demand, there’s no work.”</p><p>He’d probably do just fine, Luke would. But Riki couldn’t risk it. Luke was his friend, no matter what happened with Bison, and he didn’t deserve to lose his life over lettuce.</p><p>“Right—it’s damn hard. I heard from Tate they’re moving… More jobs on the other side of the country, they say.” Luke replied with a glance at the menu on the next table over. </p><p>Riki was hungry too, he just didn’t want to send the wrong message. </p><p>“Have you thought about it? Heading over?”</p><p>The beer slid easier down his throat this time. He racked his brain for a suggestion, a piece of information he might have overheard, anything, to direct Luke away. There was nothing.</p><p>“They talk about construction, in Penn State. I have a cousin there I could board with,” Luke offered on his own, but looked doubtful even as he said it. “But what about Bison? You’re all here.”</p><p>Riki leaned closer. “They’ll understand.”</p><p>At Luke’s frown, he added: “We’ll be here when you’re back.”</p><p>“Well… If you say so.” Luke lifted his beer, clinking it against the perspiring side of Riki’s own half-empty bottle. “I’m just scared that if I don’t pounce on this, I’ll be doomed to drag myself around the city… there’s no way out of this rut, man.”</p><p>Leaning back, Riki surveyed the place. By the door, he recognized a man he’d seen around the warehouses before—a made man, possibly. He glanced to Luke, who was too busy peering into the depths of his bottle with a world-weary expression. He couldn't have noticed. </p><p>“Yeah,” Riki agreed lightly. His elbows inched away from the greasy tabletop. “I think you should do it. For all we know, we might follow.”</p><p>***</p><p>Riki let out a scoff as soon as their eyes met. It <em> had </em> been naive to expect they would never cross paths again after last time.</p><p>Predictably, the boy took the chance and sauntered closer. He was smiling, a mischievous, teasing thing, and the first words out of his mouth hit home: “Surprised to see me?” </p><p>“I thought you weren’t supposed to hang around here.” </p><p>“Well, I wasn’t hanging <em> in</em>.”</p><p>“Smartass.” </p><p>He wasn’t going to entertain him further—maybe send him away on some empty hunt instead or tip him off about the good places to catch a wink, but Riki found his tongue loosening as Kirie fell into step beside him. “What are you doing here? Want the bad guys to pick you up again?”</p><p>“I was actually looking for you.” </p><p>That was strange enough to give him a pause. Riki stopped walking and turned to take a better look. “Why?”</p><p>He checked behind him, just in case, wondering if the boy was playing part of a larger working. For all he knew, they were waiting to ambush him just round the corner, and he was really quite stupid to fall for it. </p><p>“Hey, don’t sweat it,” Kirie reached out to clasp his arm. “They’re too busy running after their tails. I told one of those mugs,” he smiled here, like sharing a secret, “there was a hot sale at the park up the road, but there’s just the local cop parade.” </p><p>He stopped at that, waiting for Riki to laugh or admonish him playfully or something along those lines. </p><p>Riki stared at him for a long minute, then shook his head. “You’re looking for trouble.” And then resumed walking, leaving Kirie to catch up.</p><p>“Say, do you think your friends over there,” he pointed at the lot fading behind them, “would chance me for work?” </p><p>“That’s not a job you want, trust me.” Riki had a feeling he wouldn’t listen despite. </p><p>“Well, how come you’re doing it then?”</p><p>“You ask a lot of questions.”</p><p>“I’m new to town.”</p><p>“Not so new if you know about a 'cop parade.'” Riki cast him a suspicious glance, even though he had an idea that a boy like Kirie would never get involved with the police—he’d have too much to hide in the first place.</p><p>“I just happened to overhear it, c'mon!” Kirie protested as he walked closer, hand poised to reach over and punch Riki in the shoulder. He didn’t, he pulled it back.</p><p>It was familiar banter, weighed down by unspoken things one learned on the street. </p><p>“If they catch you, you’ll be getting more than a busted lip.”</p><p>“I was thinking,” Kirie’s pratty voice rang in the dusk, “you could protect me.”</p><p>Riki guffawed, carded his hair in hilarious disbelief. “You’re out of your mind.”</p><p>“Why not? I can be useful.” Kirie demanded, his body coiled tight with the rejection.</p><p>“You’re an idiot if you think I can play a bodyguard with those toughs.”</p><p>“I didn’t say that.” </p><p>Riki looked at him again, noticing Kirie was dressed in the same gladrags he'd worn before. </p><p>Life on the street wasn’t easy. He wondered where Kirie got them at all, and whether he had a place to sleep at night, but it wasn’t his business to know that. He was sure the boy would find his way around, and besides, experience showed things only got worse when Riki interfered.</p><p>“I can’t help you,” he said at last, avoiding Kirie’s searching eyes. “And you’ll do well to stay away from that lot, if you know what’s good for you. Not that you’ll listen.” </p><p>“All right, all right. I get what you mean. Maybe when I’m older…” Kirie ended on a wistful note, his narrow shoulders curved. </p><p>“Maybe never. You have to be smart if you’re going to see spring.”</p><p>It was a bad idea to take pity on him, Riki knew it. He had no place for the boy in his life, and it was too dangerous to encourage him to wait around. </p><p>This was just the way life worked out when you were on the street. They all had to fend for themselves the ways they knew how. The weak and unimaginative would weed themselves out in time, and only the toughskins would remain to fight over petty gains.</p><p>He ground his teeth and stared straight ahead. </p><p>The coins were a small collection at the bottom of his pocket, ridged and warm against the tips of his fingers. Riki’d had the good fortune of coming across the right people at the right times, and hands, savory or less so, reaching down to haul him up. </p><p>Kirie was young. The moon perched on his shoulder with promise, its dull gleam guiding him through even when he wandered off. He was still green, but he'd learn better in time. He was just new, fresh like mint, in a world so stale.</p><p>He was the most alive thing Riki had seen in a while.</p><p>“Come, I’ll get you something to eat.”</p><p>Kirie’s answering smile was dazzling. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first time Katze took him for a ride one evening, Riki hadn’t known what to expect. It happened shortly after his blunder with the local toughs, and Katze had talked to him about the business side of things and the lead-up to his request for Riki to come to the hideout; he’d even opened up about some of the side-projects he kept running in the background, to Riki’s surprise. </p>
<p>The ride had ended with them parked right outside a north-bound lot at the docks up near Bronx, and Katze then told him about the plan. They pored over a map he’d brought along, drawing boats and cars and interfering coppers, and figured out the best routes to take to smuggle the coming loads down and across Manhattan. </p>
<p>This time, as a result, he thought he had a solid idea of what would be happening when Katze picked him up at the end of his shift. At worst, he considered with remarkable indifference, they’d be offloading small packets around town, something Zico had already asked of Riki et al once or twice anyway. And yet, when Katze parked his flivver west of Midtown in front of <em> Chanterelle</em>, a restaurant as fancy as its name suggested, and handed the keys to an expecting valet, Riki understood he’d been dead wrong. </p>
<p>No matter what he thought, Katze would find a way to pull the rug from underneath him. </p>
<p>“Gentlemen, through here please.”</p>
<p>Taken aback by the jutting chin and suave attitude, Riki voiced no question or protest as he was led inside. It was as if Katze had turned into someone else altogether in passing the threshold of the establishment: someone unfamiliar to Riki, and more dangerous for it.</p>
<p>Riki looked around, taking in wide-eyed the elegant figures of women dancing or chit-chatting at the bar, groomed men flashing quick smiles as they conducted business, waiters balancing trays loaded with finger foods and flutes… The vibrant colors of evening in the city’s affluent counterpart splashed in front of his eyes, unhidden and dizzying beneath the lights. </p>
<p>Shying away from ogling the interior and its people enjoying themselves, he trained his eyes on Katze’s back. He hadn’t even dressed for this, Riki realized when he saw Katze had a suit on that could pass for evening wear. </p>
<p>Not that Riki had clothes extravagant enough to wear to such a place. He wore his work drabs, featuring patches of dust and grime at the shins that he brushed at as he trailed behind Katze. He reached up and took off his brand new cap, ruffling his hair with all the coolness he could muster as shame tightened his ribcage. This was not a place he belonged. People didn’t even have to sneer at him for Riki to know it.</p>
<p>When they stopped, he had long since emptied out his reserves, and Riki wasn’t all that surprised to come face to face with several Blondies at once, seated at a corner booth in the back.</p>
<p>A voice caught him. “Hello, Riki.” He looked up, and into Iason Mink’s eyes. </p>
<p>There was a sticky pause as everyone at the table turned to take a gander. Iason used the distraction to lift his wine glass and tease a salute with it. He smiled deviously, his teeth gleaming in the lamplight, and took a deep drink, all the while holding Riki’s gaze. </p>
<p>“This is him,” Katze said by way of introduction, gesturing loosely behind himself. “This is Riki.” </p>
<p>In the sea of cultivated blondeness and calculating gazes, a man not much older than himself stood out, shining dark hair slicked back smartly. Only he, too, watched Riki like a hawk, and wore a suit, just like Katze and the rest of the Family. Riki looked down. “Good evening,” he said to the gathered, and that was it. </p>
<p>Boisterous cries for drinks sounded from the table and Riki and Katze were pulled in beside the seated parties. Before the minute was over, someone was complimenting Riki’s woolen cap and offering him a glass of wine. Riki refused, searching for Katze in the crowd because talking to Iason was out of the question. But Katze was busy whispering furiously with Raoul, the only other Blondie whom Riki had met before, and unfortunately for Riki, neither seemed inclined to drop the conversation. </p>
<p>He rubbed his hands together, anxious with wonder about the reason Katze had brought him here, and how soon they'd be expecting to head back out. Just about then, a man with a thin face and elaborate moustache leaned in across the table, his twinkling eyes flickering over Riki. </p>
<p>“What’s your vice then?” </p>
<p>Riki heard someone snort in the background and—disgusted with his ability to place the sound—panicked properly. But when he glanced to the side and found Iason roped into a conversation, and not mocking Riki in particular, he felt stupider for it if possible. </p>
<p>He choked down bitter relief and turned back to the man who’d asked the question to shrug at him. “I like beer,” he said strategically. “The darker, the better.” </p>
<p>His confirmation that he’d gotten it right came a moment later, when the man waved down a waiter and ordered “the strongest stout for Riki, our newest.</p>
<p>“I’m Gideon,” he went on with a toothy smile, offering his hand to shake over the platters. “Lagat. And I like a good laugh.” </p>
<p>Riki reached over and shook his hand, holding out for a trick as he took in Gideon’s charming introduction. </p>
<p>“And women, but that’s par for the course.” Gideon winked at him then, and turned his head to look at a female patron passing by. His sharp eyebrows wiggled high up on his brow. </p>
<p>“Nice to meet you.” Riki replied before he decided to imitate him and turn to check out the other patrons in their corner of the restaurant. </p>
<p>A waiter swung around soon after that, dropping a steaming mug in front of the Blondie sitting next to Gideon, and another followed suit to deliver Riki’s stout. </p>
<p>Noticing Riki’s attention on the man next to him, Gideon poked said man in the side as he sipped from his mug and watched him splutter in indignation. “And this is cousin Orphe, who is too self-important to introduce himself,” he told Riki with some mirth. “All right there?”</p>
<p>Orphe glared at Gideon, but he didn’t offer Riki the same. Clearly not about to waste any more time with the pair of them, he turned away and joined a different conversation.</p>
<p>Riki looked at Gideon with helplessness. “You owe me a joke!” Gideon said as they clinked their glasses together. They drank eye-to-eye, then both burst into a laugh to Orphe’s continued indignation. </p>
<p>Riki licked the foam off of his lips and tried to think of one to share right away. He might have been onto a slum classic, but some of the guys decided to go for fresh air just then and he was jostled back onto his feet. Spurred on by the moment, he took another appreciative sip or two of the stout.</p>
<p>He couldn't help himself in the bustle. He glanced to Iason's corner one more time to find the man eyeing him right back, and disengaged fast. But even acting like it hadn't happened, the edge of Iason's smirk lingered in his mind as he returned to the booth, sharp enough to carve. </p>
<p>It wasn’t best, and not only because Riki actually had to scoot over and sit closer to him, but also because Gideon asked for everyone to tune in for Riki’s grand jest. </p>
<p>“Aah,” Riki wiggled a finger, the curdle of alcohol having overpowered his empty stomach. He had no idea what he would tell them, he realized, and flushed all the way through. What did mobsters laugh at anyway?</p>
<p>With everyone watching him like some circus animal, including the boss, he lost his nerve and picked the only way forward: “First I’m going to pop to the lav.” With that he stood up, not bothering to finish his drink, and stepped away from the table.</p>
<p>There was a strangled shout and a lot of bemoaning his departure, and still he didn’t turn around to promise to come back. He was too busy trying to find the lavatory. He just needed a moment away from the table, Riki told himself as he turned into a narrow corridor. He saw the men’s sign on the door up ahead and strode towards it like it held all the answers.</p>
<p>He was doing up his trousers and thinking about stepping outside for a breather when he heard the lavatory door creak open and close. </p>
<p>How long had he stood there? He shouldn't have drank all that beer.</p>
<p>Riki flushed and ducked out, only to walk into someone standing in front of the stall. His hands came up, gripping air and elbow. “Sorry, man!” </p>
<p>It was annoyingly easy to place him, even here, but refusing to pay the man any more attention, Riki made to step away to the sink. Iason, who had other ideas, reached for his hip and pulled him back. Without giving him a moment’s space, he spun Riki and in two steps had him pinned to the door, and slid closer—too close.</p>
<p>Riki looked up at him in slow shock, woozy with arousal as his shoulders pressed back against solid wood. Enveloping him, Iason spoke in a breathy chuckle: “I recall leaving dry last time. Care to fix that, Riki?” His hand found Riki’s thigh, lightly brushing a finger down the side, and he bent for a kiss.</p>
<p>Riki turned his head. “Not... no,” came out strained, the words burning his throat. Could this be some rite of passage—resist the advance and you were in? That would prove what, exactly?  Something sharp twisted his gut, mingling with the arousal. </p>
<p>Were they onto him and that’s why, had they spotted him somewhere damning? There were a number of establishments around Riki’s place; things were different in his parts, and people cared less with hounds like the Depression gnawing at their feet. Still, Riki pictured some of the crueler things the mobsters, overt in their ‘normalcy,’ could do to him, and that dimmed the fire.  He lifted his hands to push Iason away, who didn’t budge.</p>
<p>“Well, why not?” Undeterred by rejection, Iason smiled down at Riki like he still had a winning bet to place. He rolled his hips, feeling.</p>
<p>“I’m not into that sort of thing.” Riki averted his eyes as he pulled taut against the door, wondering if it showed on his face, how much he wasn’t into it. He glared at Iason in defiance.</p>
<p>Iason chuckled as if he could read him better, dispelling a world of cruelty with uncanny ease, and covered Riki’s hands with his own. They were more sinewy than expected, cooler to the touch. </p>
<p>Both held for several tense beats, neither letting up. Then, slowly, like reaching out to pet a wild beast, Iason trailed his fingers up Riki’s arm. He watched as he did it, closely following the narrowing of Riki’s eyes, the slackness of his lips. Once he reached shoulder, he grabbed Riki by the nape of his neck to keep him in place. He was confident here, his strength born from knowledge as he pressed down in mockery of where he wanted Riki. </p>
<p>Knees dangerously close to buckling, whether by want or force, Riki grit his teeth and snapped: "I'm not—!" He jerked Iason’s arm away, radiating aggression. He couldn't make a mistake. </p>
<p>This seemed to give Iason a pause, and Riki stifled a sigh of relief when he stepped back with a blink. “You’re really not, are you? Interesting.” </p>
<p>Instead of answering, Riki pushed away from the door and went to finish washing his hands. He felt dirty beyond anything the soap could wash off, and the room, if already by nature, seemed to reek of the nasty thing that transpired between them. Gideon’s words blurred with Iason’s teasing ones, and countless slurs he’d overheard in the past scaled one another in his mind.</p>
<p>He splashed his face with water, counting on it to help him think clearer. It didn't. He was still angry when he lifted his head. Perversely, his cock ached, stiffened. In the mirror above the sink, observing him with shaded eyes, the mob overlord stood unmoving, as if intrigued by his being. Had he passed the stupid test then? Riki wasn’t even sure he wanted to stick around to find out. </p>
<p>After a moment of that silent exchange, someone knocked on the door and opened it to come in. The newcomer nodded at Riki and greeted Iason like a friend. For his part, Iason played at inspecting his cuffs in the background, poised in his nonchalance and lack of shame.</p>
<p>Riki's teeth felt like they would crack from the pressure. They were lucky no one had tried the door while he had Riki pinned against it, caught them in an act to report. But playing along with the overarching expectation for decency in the men's, he turned around and set about it: “Thanks for the beer.” And walked on past him.</p>
<p>Riki didn’t stop once he made it out of the lav and then the hallway. Staring ahead, he went for the front door, and stepped through before he could hear anyone calling out to him. </p>
<p>He couldn’t even find it in himself to say goodbye to Katze, who he saw smoking down the street obscured by the long shadows of brick. Raoul and Gideon were laughing beside him, right at home in this glitzy world. </p>
<p>They were all so fucked up.</p>
<p>*** </p>
<p>When he went to Guy’s for a fuck that night, Riki told himself it was because of all the pent-up frustration he’d accumulated over the previous weeks. It had nothing to do with Iason Mink and his smoldering eyes; none whatsoever to do with his clever, wanting hands.</p>
<p>And if he felt anything about it, anything at all—well, Guy was there to drown it out.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The last scene in this chapter was one of the first I wrote, many months ago, which tells you all about my initial motivations. I've somehow managed to hide it away all this time. And still, it's hard to believe it has been a year since I posted chapter 1.<br/>Thank you for your readership--writing wouldn't be as much fun without you, so I hope you continue to enjoy <em>Searing</em>. ♡</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Raoul, when he decided to go for it, liked to roll his own smokes. He did it well too, pulling the act of measuring and balancing, and the roll, with the ease of a magician. He looked pleased.</p><p>They stood beneath the dripping awning, enjoying a moment of social respite as the day-old snow melted overhead. The night was fuggy where the sewers gaped at the starless sky, full of distorted shouts in the distance. </p><p>Katze lit his cig, then offered Raoul a flame in cupped hand. They smoked like that for a couple minutes. </p><p>“He needs some polishing,” Raoul said after. “The last soldier in that part of town went fast on us. They don’t like us there, and they shouldn’t. The folks don’t shit where they eat.”</p><p>“You bet,” Katze replied, the reach of his voice tangled with smoke and contemplation. He nodded and pressed the tip of his shoe into the snow wedge melting on the pavement, to help it along. “He thought up a route the other day. And Zico’s already passed him a cadillac or two to park.”</p><p>“Mm,” thickly. “If you say so.”</p><p>Katze thought about the work ahead, the ease he needed to train out of Riki before he was ready to take on the life. Strangely enough, he didn’t feel tired for it. It was a job, but limited; Katze already knew he could hardly pin a replacement for himself. No, he’d go down in flames with the rest of them, but he could make sure their leftover years were sweet—sweeter still. </p><p>His mind spun plans and tricks, betting large and small in turns. It wasn’t long before the world pressed demands between his shoulder blades. </p><p>“There they are!” A merry giggle followed the declaration, and Katze turned his head to watch Gideon stumbling over in joy and cunning. </p><p>“And what are you two beauties doing out here when all the goods are in there?” Gideon tilted his head in the direction of the restaurant behind them, taunting with warmth and sparkling light.</p><p>Raoul waved the smoke at him, though it did nothing to stop Gideon—the curve of his mouth spoke of mischief. He plucked the cig from between Raoul’s fingers and brought it to said mouth. “Good cat you’ve brought us,” he said facing Katze. Meaning Riki. “Left me hanging on a joke!”</p><p>“That’s what you get when you go all out.” Raoul reclaimed his smoke and inhaled the remainder of it.</p><p>Without much finesse, Gideon’s fingers wormed their way to both their shoulders, pulling them closer together like he was about to confide a secret, or a joke he’d thought of in passing. “Speaking of going all out… Our pals in the seats<em> loved </em>the opium.”</p><p>“Swell,” Katze puffed out. “It took years to set up proper, not like those hacks downtown.” The memory pressed on him and it took a couple tries to shrug it away. He had worked hard for it.</p><p>“Did you know the cops busted them?” Gideon asked aglow. He turned his head this and that way, trying to get a view of both of them, likely to ascertain whose reaction would be funnier. </p><p>Katze chucked the snipe, tried to fix a serious look in place. “Oh, I know. I flipped on them.”</p><p>The Blondie tossed his head back and laughed, thumping Katze’s shoulder in approval. "You... you're... incredible!" He wiped his face shivering with hiccups, gloriously drunk.</p><p>There was reason enough to celebrate these days, even though not all of them had the leeway to relax. From the corner of his eye, Katze saw Raoul grin and shake his head, still pleased. If he went early and not well-rested at all, he thought, might as well leave something good behind.</p><p>*** </p><p>“Is he coming?” </p><p>It wasn’t the first time someone had asked that night. They were sending off Luke in the morning, and Guy kept glancing to the door, expecting Riki to walk through at any moment. “Maybe not.”</p><p>“He seemed busy last I saw him,” Luke said. He lifted his hands in some dance of defense on Riki’s behalf, but seeing his slouch it was obvious it'd bummed him out. </p><p>Sid’s eyes narrowed on Guy, who only shrugged. “He says he’s hitting up spots for jobs.”</p><p>Norris scoffed. “He won’t find them.” He picked up a wrench off the floor and blew on it. </p><p>“You’re so cheerful, the lot of you,” Luke joked as he drained the last of the beer. “But I know. I know. I guess you could follow me, if things don’t work out here.” He cast a hopeful glance at Guy, then Sid, knowing Norris would have a hard time leaving the shop. </p><p>Sid shook his head. His hand stilled just before he fished into a pocket. “Trying to quit.” He confirmed, and handed his half-full beer to Luke. </p><p>There was a gulpy pause as they settled deeper in the garage, lulled by the small sounds of Norris’ tools and boots as he tinkered with the bike. </p><p>“I don’t know what we’re going to do,” Norris said in that way of his, rough and grey. He tossed his head back, eyes drawn to the same cobwebs he swore to sweep away every morning, then shrugged it off and jostled the plate covering. “Keep on keeping on, I guess.”</p><p>The resignation in his voice stirred something in Guy. He stood up, wanting to go already, except Sid’s eyebrow quelled him. Awkwardly, he dusted off his hands instead, and leaned back against the wall. </p><p>“Maybe they’ll do something with the new figurehead in office,” Luke offered to the conversation, but he sounded like he didn’t much believe it. Why else would he be moving away? He knew the boys, too, were thinking of every official that had failed them—all of them, really.</p><p>Sid shrugged. He pulled a cig out of some hidden pocket and brought it to his lips. “Watch. They’ll be knocking out acts and passing laws, it’s what they do every time.” </p><p>“And we’ll be left behind.”</p><p>Sid didn’t look Guy’s way, but the tilt of his head suggested he’d heard fine. He palmed the cig and crushed it between his fingers. </p><p>“You’re in a dark mood. I don’t know what kind of jobs Riki’s after, but the world is getting more desperate by the day. I caught this boy shoplifting the other day, thought he could swipe the imports. Cried like a baby when I got him, he did. No good.”</p><p>“You know,” Norris started, sparing a bothered sigh for Sid’s torture of the roll, “I don’t judge people anymore. We all’ve got to do what we can to survive. You could go out for chances instead of posturing. I’ve heard about your police, how they strike gold with the right deals.”</p><p>A look passed around at the mention of the subject. Luke took a hearty swig and slapped the bottle down with theatricality. “I don’t know,” was all he said, though.</p><p>“I’m not on the pad, and even if they tried me, I have dignity,” Sid defended to Norris, scrunching the last of picks in his fist. “Don’t go there.” </p><p>Norris turned back to his bike, but not before he shot Guy a grimace that said <em> you do better</em>.</p><p>“I’m going to get all those bastards, just you wait and see.” Having made his promise, Sid opened his fist and let the tobacco flutter to the ground. He looked around as if he was noticing the grimy shop for the first time, then found the only other chair and flipped it round to sit down. </p><p>“Pass me the spring, will you?” Norris asked into the silence. “And come here, I need your help.”</p><p>“Pass you what?” Luke put down the beer and rose to his feet. He was clumsy in the shop, drunkenly unsuited to it.</p><p>“The leaf spring,” Norris said, enunciating each word. “That curved—you got it. Come here, you hold this and I’ll lift it up to check under...”</p><p>Guy forced himself not to watch the clock on the wall.</p><p>***</p><p>Weighty clouds tumbled overhead as Riki pocketed the wad of greens, casting an early shadow across the rain-slicked pavement. Dusk was quick to come still, these days, even though winter inevitably inched toward its end. </p><p>He was done with work for the day and had just closed the gate, leaving the locking up to Django, when he noticed the group across the street. They were smoking and watching him, bloodthirsty blinkers tracking his steps as he turned at the corner to take the long way around. Counter-intuitive maybe, but that way he wouldn’t have to walk down the stretch of street right in front of them; he had better chances at losing them in between the residentials. </p><p>Riki refused to turn around and check on the group out of pride more than caution. He heard them easily enough when they started clamoring after him, abandoning spent snipes in a trail of turf markings. They weren’t trying to be quiet, he realized, and cursed under his breath. </p><p>He had his gun on him this time, but he hadn’t once practiced with it. It was a weight, not unlike the low-hanging clouds above, full of menacing promise every time he looked. He was aware confidence came with practice, but the first run uphill was always the hardest, and he had no courage to simply start with it. Practicing at the lot was not an option, which left him very few places he could stand and shoot til he learned the trick. Between work and avoiding Bison, he had barely had the time to sleep, much less scout those places. And he had been scared, alright. Too wound up to take the gun out of the flat, pocket it, even more so to be caught with it on him. </p><p>It was no surprise when the toughs started goading. Riki had expected some kind of retribution, even verbal. After all, he hadn’t won the fight on his own merit, and the fact that he had interfered at all meant he was willing to poke his nose into others' business. Street gangs, no matter how big or small, wouldn’t let that kind of thing slide.</p><p>“Running away now, are ya?” A voice bit after him, making a couple heads turn as Riki passed workers leaving the area. </p><p>He might as well have a target painted on his back, he thought. At the very least, people would think he stole something—the run of it felt familiar. </p><p>“Little scaredy-cat, going home to cry to his mommy.” </p><p>“No, his <em> boy </em>friend.” Followed by snickering.</p><p>Riki shoved a hand into the sagging pocket, curling it around the gun the way he had at bedtime, but the cold touch of it was no comfort. </p><p>“Useless pansy!"</p><p>Gnashing his teeth, Riki stifled the urge to spar and kept walking. It could get ugly fast if he didn’t figure out a way to get off the road, regardless of what people thought of him. He held his chin up and tried to tune out the barked insults. With luck, and if he kept his head clear enough, he'd manage to shake them when he turned east on the Ave and joined with the evening traffic.</p><p>But before he could cross the street and duck down an unfamiliar alleyway, there was a polished Lincoln cutting him off. He hadn’t seen the car coming, hadn’t even heard it in the commotion. Perfect prey to the distraction, Riki squared his shoulders with everything he’d held back for this moment, and stepped up to give a piece of his mind to the savage driver. </p><p>“Hey, idiot!” he called out, but then the passenger door opened to show a familiar face Riki hadn’t thought he’d be seeing again... or at least hoped he wouldn’t, given their last run-in. He didn’t get to the driver at all, struck as he was by the coincidence of this appearance. "What!"</p><p>"That your pimp, pansy?"</p><p>Riki's shoulders grew taut, but Iason only nodded to him gamely. </p><p>“Riki. We meet again.” He didn't appear to hear the jeers in the background. "Come on in," he gestured. "I'll take you home." </p><p>Maybe he had known, had seen Riki hurrying away and stopped to help. Knowingly or unknowingly sparing him the run. Riki glanced at the gang reflected in the glass, looming behind him. </p><p>He wasn’t stupid; he expected there to be some price to pay for going, something owed. Iason Mink didn't strike him as the kind of man that picked people off the street without standing to benefit from it. But with the way things were out here… </p><p>No helping it. He climbed in with a nervous breath, the questions curling under his tongue. The door closed with a dull thump, like announcement of war that he'd bring in—some tough had thrown a stone at his retreating back. </p><p>Iason's pupils darkened in premonition, but there wasn't any time to ask. "Let's greet them back." He waved, and the driver rolled down the window by him with gun in hand. Riki could hardly do more than watch on, gripping the seat, as he fixed his pistol to empty a round.</p><p>"Are you crazy?" he shouted from the backseat, the pop-pop-pop ringing in his ears. The world outside was a blur, his vision narrowed to the steady hand firing off without heed.</p><p>Fucking hell.</p><p>He hadn’t come to himself yet when the car reversed, picking up speed as it rolled away from the scene. Riki felt ill without even seeing if anyone was down. They all must have been, even if they'd tried to scatter. That was how guns worked, and his heart knew a new fear for it.</p><p>It took the driver a minute to recover after he’d tossed his gun to the passenger seat, and then he was grumbling and asking Riki for directions. Iason prompted him to speak with an encouraging nod and Riki did then, fortunately, finding it in him to rattle off a street number close to his place. </p><p>They headed to the East Side, alternating speeds as the iron glided across the slick expanse of road. Fat droplets of rain splashed on the windshield and rivered along the windows, washing away any blood there might have been. Riki stared at the tracks running all the way down, past his sight, his breath evening out. The black pit in his stomach was harder to manage.</p><p>"Street deal gone wrong?" Iason asked after a bit, the dryness to his voice suggesting he knew none of the fight. "Or were they picking on you for a different reason?"</p><p>Riki stilled, mind shifting gears. What game was this? </p><p>"What are you trying to say?" </p><p>There was an implication buried in those words, a hint of unfinished business. There were things Riki hadn’t taken a bother to clarify between them. He remembered that night all too well, and was sure Iason did too. The suggestion burned all the same.</p><p>Iason looked away, a faint smirk on his face. He’d heard them just fine then; they all had. </p><p><em> Pansy</em>, they’d called Riki. <em> Boy-whore. </em></p><p>Riki felt heat rise to his face. His skin pulled with tension, a lot like their previous encounter. He remembered his own lies, and it set him off the rest of the way. "No, no," he pressed defensively, "What do you mean?"</p><p>Iason didn’t answer. He left Riki to spend his fumes on empty, refused to meet his eye. "Good thing I happened by, don't you think?" he murmured in the silence after a bit. He was looking out through the window, feigning great interest in the sights past, and his tone remained unchanged even as he pressed his knuckles into Riki’s thigh.</p><p>Riki closed his eyes against the bitter feeling. “I guess,” he replied, fracturing as the familiarity of the air strummed at him. He could push Iason away again, make a racket to defend his dignity, or he could give Iason what he wanted and live another day. Satisfy that curiosity. He already had plenty about himself to hate, adding to it had never been a problem.</p><p>"You guess?"</p><p>This all had to be about what Iason hadn’t been able to get out of him back in the restaurant lavatory.</p><p>"Yeah, what? Is this the part where I thank you?" </p><p>"We'll wait for Gilbert to step out before you do that," Iason explained with patience, indicating the driver in the front. The man, to his credit, was steadfastly focused on the road. </p><p>Riki was about to tell Iason where he could stuff it when he thought better and forced himself to shut up. Disrespecting Iason in front of a wise guy wouldn’t help him. He had to play along until he figured out a deal, even though he had a pretty good idea of the kind of gratitude Iason wanted, and that the request couldn’t be initiatory in nature.</p><p>When they arrived at the crossroads he’d specified, Gilbert parked close to the curb and silently accepted the hope chest Iason handed him. “There’s Marilyn’s place nearby,” Iason told him, and reached over to lock Riki’s door from the inside.</p><p>Riki sneered at the gesture. He wanted nothing more than to get out of the car and forget this night had happened, but he wasn’t about to run from Iason Mink. His ears buzzed with shame, though. This was an idea as terrible as it was violating. Seeing them together in a business context was damning enough... Wasn’t Iason, the head of a famously antagonistic organization, aware of the facts? </p><p>Watching Gilbert’s figure grow distant down the road, the mounting unease Riki felt just about spilled over. He shifted in the seat, spine tingling with pinpricks of unwelcome anticipation.</p><p>"Well?" Iason prompted, taking his hat off with a solicitous look at Riki. "Shall we?" </p><p>"What do you want from me?" Riki asked him, no longer able to hide behind anger and revulsion. But, having his guesses, he couldn’t stop himself—his eyes fell to Iason’s lap.</p><p>Iason followed his gaze. "You’re solid, Riki," he grinned menacingly. </p><p>The streets were deserted this time of day, most of the families having retreated home for dinner. Still, anyone could pass by and glimpse inside the Lincoln. Anyone could see them through the windows... Guy could walk by in search of Riki. Gilbert could be coming back from his smoke. Or he could even be watching them from the shadows. It was a bad, bad idea.</p><p>"I did save your neck," Iason reminded.</p><p>Riki’s gaze hardened as he turned to face him. He may not like it, but he would be damned if he owed anything to the mafia. If this was what it took… “Fine.” And with that he reached for Iason, tugged his trousers open with clumsy fingers. Better to be done with it fast, before the blue hour had fully gone. “Have it your way.” </p><p>Even hateful, warmth spread across his chest at the motions, twisting up and around his throat like a vine. Their hands brushed as Iason helped him unbutton the tidy rows of buttons. He was erect beneath the tailored cloth, enthusiastic.</p><p>Riki ignored the flare coursing up his own thighs, pushed away thoughts of attraction stealing by. He licked his lips with the fleeting thought that he never would have guessed he’d be giving head to a crime boss in the backseat of his fliv. </p><p>Iason filled his mouth easily, tasted clean and hot. He was involved and tactile, hands alternating between smoothing back Riki’s hair and rubbing his shoulders in encouragement. When Riki took a proper hold of him, he groaned and dug his fingers into the nape of Riki’s neck, and the familiar gesture made Riki’s own trousers grow shamefully tight with want. </p><p>"Like it?" Iason asked as if he could see, but the strain to his voice betrayed him. To spite him, Riki took more, and choked wetly before pulling back up with a glare.</p><p>Iason laughed on an exhale, pleased with the effort all the same, and rubbed the runny corner of Riki’s mouth with infuriating tenderness. "Easy now. Go slow. You know it…</p><p>“That’s good...”</p><p>Never spoken to like that before, each word wrapped like a hand around Riki’s prick. He stalled the anticipatory twist of his own hips and reached in the folds of Iason’s zipper.</p><p>Iason came in silence without warning: several spurts bitter against the back of Riki's throat. Swallowing around him, Riki wouldn’t let himself look too closely at the intimacy of Iason's hand in his hair, the way his curious fingers pressed to feel himself through cheek.</p><p>“Thank you, darling,” Iason said right after, buttoning his trousers to hide any evidence of what they’d done. </p><p>“Anytime.” Riki ground out before he could stop himself, and regretted it as soon the words were out.</p><p>Iason snickered, as satisfied as a cat that got the cream. "Think before you promise." He reached over to tuck Riki’s hair behind his ear, his touch warm and electrifying. Horrified at his own reaction, Riki sat back and wiped his mouth. </p><p>Avoiding looking Iason’s way was the only reason he spotted Gilbert walking back. Without waiting for him to enter the car, he unlocked the door and pushed it open. "Good night, Riki," he heard Iason bid behind him. “Stay safe.”</p><p>He looked put together as if he hadn’t come in Riki’s mouth minutes earlier. Unable to stand being in his presence any longer, Riki awkwardly climbed out of the car. He didn’t say anything before he slammed the door shut, worried about what other shameful words would come out.</p><p>Purely on accident, he met Gilbert's eye at the leave, and what he saw there was enough to squash any lingering arousal.</p>
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